#anyway there is rain and logic behind all the things i picked but it's probably impossible to figure out for anyone but me lmao

[thatlittledandere]

Stopped using Twitter so I've got to post my OC Picrews here now

Bonus me

[lexi-the-twilight-dragon]

So my brain thought up this game while I slept the other night, and I don’t know what else to do with it other than to post it here.

It’s a 3D survival game, visually similar to Last of Us, Red Dead Redemption and A Way Out, and being co-op like the latter. I have never played any of those games (and have no intention to; not my cup of tea) and honestly had to look up the name of one of them, so I have no idea why my brain came up with this.

(Also, brains are prone to weird jumps in logic while dreaming, so bear with me)

The Story:

A class of high-schoolers (probably seniors, idk how the American school system works) take a school trip up to a mountainous forest reserve for a project of some kind. Everyone has to be in pairs so no one gets left behind, and somehow star footballer Connor gets paired up with “just-trying-to-survive-til-I-graduate” Michael.

Something is very not right with this forest. There are shacks that should be long abandoned and derelict but have signs of being lived in, or never being abandoned at all. Trails vanish under your feet without you noticing until you’re way off course. Old men passing by tell tales of people going missing without trace. There’s no birdsong, or any animal noises, at all.

Connor and Michael get very, very lost. The sun is going down. There’s no sign of a search party. Connor is sure they’ll be fine. His uncle Joshua is a ranger up here, and the school wouldn’t just abandon two of its students on a mountain, right? Michael, used to having no one looking out for him, starts to prepare to at least survive the night.

And that’s when things go to shit, because there’s a cult on this mountain. I don’t know what kind of cult, because frankly I’ve never been a religious person, but they’re there, and they want these boys, dead or alive. So said boys fucking run, and manage to lose them, but become even more lost in the process.

The sun rises. There’s still no sign of rescue. They didn’t have a lot of supplies to begin with, and now they’ve got even less. There’s a literal cult trying to kill them. If they’re gonna survive out here, they’re gonna have to get serious, and they’re gonna have to trust each other.

So it goes for a few days. They search for food and water, they try to find safe places to hide and shelter, they steal shit from the shacks (when the cultists aren’t there), they run/hide/defend themselves from cultists and the unaffiliated serial killer who apparently didn’t die when he fell off a cliff into the lake 30 years ago and has been picking off trail-walkers since (he was one of the old men earlier), they try to find ways to help rescuers find them without tipping off the cultists to their location, they look out for each other, they tend to each other’s wounds, and they start to open up to each other.

Connor puts himself under a lot of pressure to be the popular jock, to be the son that his dad wants. He’s gotten physically hurt playing football, and been told to suck it up and keep going, so much that he’s stopped telling people when he’s hurting. He’s literally bleeding through his shirt and can’t put too much weight on one leg, but he’s fine, really, no really, he’s fine, stop worrying about it, it’s nothing, he’s fine, shut up. He comes off as selfish from the jock persona, but he physically cannot put himself and his own needs first.

Michael doesn’t speak much, and it isn’t because he doesn’t want to. It’s that any time he tries to, he’s punished for it. He doesn’t ask for help because he’s never given it. He doesn’t speak up for himself because that gets him called a liar by adults and beat up by teens. He doesn’t give his all anymore, because it’s never good enough anyway. He doesn’t have friends, because no one stays around him for long. He has no plans for the future, because they’ll only fall through. He just does what he can to make it through another day, and today, that means keeping him and Connor alive.

One day, it’s lightly but steadily raining, and they’re huddled in a ditch under a blanket they’ve stolen. Despite the constant danger, the ache of barely healing injuries, and the fact they’re both grimy as hell by now, it’s… nice. Almost serene. Connor asks if he can admit something important to Michael. Michael gives the go-ahead.

Connor comes out as a transgirl to Michael. She’s terrified of admitting it to anyone, her dad, family, friends, god forbid the school and football team. Everything her life is is wrapped up in being a boy. But for all she knows, she could die later today. Her life, right now, is being with Michael, and even if he rejects her for it, she wants him to know.

Michael accepts her in a heartbeat. He’s antisocial, not an asshole. He hugs her, and asks if there’s a name she’d like him to call her. Connor is henceforth referred to as Vanessa for the rest of the game.

Michael then asks if he can admit something important to Vanessa. Vanessa gives the go-ahead. Michael says that he used to think he was gay, but as of two minutes ago, he’s gonna have to change that to bi. It takes five seconds for the penny to drop. There’s no pressure, he hurries to add. She kisses him anyway.

Realising they’re both hopped up on adrenaline (and probably teenager hormones), they agree to work all of that out when they aren’t fighting for their lives.

There’s a boss fight against the serial killer in a thunderstorm, up on the same cliffs from 30 years ago. Michael gets a grapple on him, but gets pushed to the ground and slashed in the side pretty badly by the old man’s knife. Before he can finish the job, Vanessa gets his attention, and shoots him with a shotgun. Yeah, he definitely didn’t survive that fall into the lake. She got a headshot.

Michael’s losing a lot of blood from the slash, so if they aren’t rescued soon, he might not make it. Vanessa tries to carry him to shelter, but is hindered by her injured leg, which Michael is groggily prioritising over himself despite her command to shut up. She finally finds an outcrop of the cliffs, and it takes literally everything (i.e. all relevant supplies in the inventory) to stifle Michael’s bleeding. The blood trail washes away in the heavy rain.

The next morning, they’re found. Vanessa freaks out and grabs the shotgun again, only to realise that it’s her uncle Joshua. She tries to tell him all that’s happened, with the cultists and the serial killer, but he doesn’t believe her, thinking “he” and “his” friend just left the trail for kicks and got lost. Joshua picks up a semi-conscious Michael, and starts to take the two back down the mountain.

After a short while, Vanessa stops, and pulls her shotgun on Joshua again.

See, something that’s been subtly hinted at all game is that the symbol of the cultists (I don’t know jack about cultists, so don’t ask me what the symbol is) has been mildly familiar to Vanessa, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Now she does.

It’s tattooed on Joshua’s neck, just hidden under his uniform collar.

Joshua tries to tell her she’s being paranoid, she’s scared from being stuck here so long, there are no cultists, put the gun down.

He just found two lost, starving, badly injured teenagers, Vanessa tells him, and he hasn’t reached for his radio to call backup. So something’s up.

Joshua’s got backup, alright. Just not the type she’d been hoping for, as the cultists step out from the trees, in broad daylight this time. She can’t pull the trigger without hurting Michael, so she’s quickly overwhelmed and taken hostage too.

Joshua explains that he and “Connor’s” mother were born into this generations-old cult, but her mother “betrayed the faith” and went to live a normal life. Joshua pretended to join her, but instead used his job as ranger to “overlook” the cult establishing themselves on the reserve, as well as the old man.

They’d intentionally disoriented Vanessa and Michael and got them separated from their class, so they could “reconnect the bloodline” by encompassing “the eldest son” into their ranks, using Michael as a sacrifice to appease their god for “Connor’s” mother’s “transgressions”.

Michael has woken up enough to hear all of this, and our protagonists have both. Had. Enough.

Cue escape plan from the cultists’ hideout, followed by a boss fight with Joshua. I don’t really remember how this one played out, I think I was getting close waking up at this point. Regardless, it occurs to the two teenagers that while Joshua could get away with hiding a stealthy cult on this reserve, a forest fire would grab a lot more attention from the actual authorities. It’s too wet to start a real one, what with the heavy storm last night, but since the cultists know where they are anyway, it can’t hurt to use the more drastic attention-seeking methods.

(Don’t ask me where they got the fireworks. Probably the same place they got the shotgun)

So yeah, the real rescue turns up, Joshua is exposed, most of the cultists are arrested (and those that got away will be tracked down), and the teens get taken to the ambulances which freaks Vanessa out because she now understandably has some trust issues and doesn’t want to be separated. Michael almost outs her by calling her name but manages to stop himself and call “him” Ness instead (I haven’t played Earthbound either). He promises her that they’re gonna be okay now, they’re safe, and as soon as he’s stitched up he’s coming to see her in her hospital room. Not if she comes to him first, she says.

Flash forward to a few months later. Michael pulls up to Vanessa’s house. He’s dressed in a suit of bisexual colours. It is very obviously prom night. The front door opens. It hasn’t been very long, so her hair is only a few inches longer, and she’s still built like a footballer, but nonetheless Vanessa looks beautiful in her prom dress. Well, pant-dress. She wasn’t that brave.

She’s been more than brave enough, Michael says, leaning up to kiss her forehead (She’s taller than him).

The Script’s “Never Seen Anything (Quite Like You)” plays over the credits.

On that note, I think I’m calling this game You Never Saw Anything. It works, doesn’t it?

Anyway, I can’t design for garbage, and my art skills aren’t much better, so that’s all I got. Hope you enjoyed.

[xoxoavenger]

Challenge Succeeded, Love

pairing: Young!Charles Xavier x Reader

summary: After a small dispute, Y/N knows she has to make Charles regret talking to the girl at the bar.

word count: 2057

warnings: none

masterlist

“Oh, Charles, when are you going to learn that the girls you meet at the bar just aren’t the right ones?” Y/N asked as they walked out of the bar. Raven and her had just pulled him away from a girl who was trying to get handsy, the three deciding to go home. They walked in the rain outside the bar, Charles reached over to grab the umbrella in the holder outside of the door.

“At the rate he’s going, I doubt he’ll ever learn.” Raven said, and Y/N frowned.

“And what, you two are the only girls I’m allowed to look at?” Charles asked, holding an umbrella up for Y/N while Raven held her own up.

“No.” Y/N said meekly, folding her arms. If she were being honest with herself, she was definitely jealous, but she had to keep these feelings away, because Charles could easily tell.

“Then I don’t see the problem.” He shrugged, and Y/N frowned deeper. She looked to Raven, who was looking straight ahead. Y/N knew, though, that she was upset. She was somewhat a telepath, just as Charles is, but her specialty was emotion. She knew what people were feeling, knew how to manipulate it.

Sometimes she wished-

Y/N didn’t finish her thought, feeling Charles in her head already. She shoved him, making the water on the umbrella fall onto her, along with the rain from outside. She shivered from the cold, but didn't join him back under the umbrella.

“You know I hate it when you do that!” Y/N said, walking away and into the rain to further herself from him.

“Something’s troubling you. Why haven’t you told me?” He asked, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Like you would want to hear, much less understand.” Y/N picked up her pace, walking ahead, getting drenched as she tried to ignore him.

“I wouldn’t look if I didn’t feel the need to, Y/N. You are important to me and I care. I want to make sure you’re alright.” Charles said, and Y/N stopped, turning to him. He stopped too, holding the umbrella out to cover her. Raven stopped as well, looking between the two, then at the people still walking, now staring at them.

"Have you ever thought that maybe I do tell you everything I need to? I deserve to keep some things private."

"I understand, but you aren't listening to my side."

"You shouldn't even have a side!"

"Every disagreement has two sides! Otherwise, it wouldn't be a disagreement!"

“Guys, maybe here isn’t the best time to have one of your-“

“You’re just so smart, Charles. It seemed you always know what’s right, don’t you? You can just use those amazing powers of yours and know exactly what’s right or wrong. You know exactly what everyone’s thinking all the time, don’t you?” Y/N said, and Charles tried to grab her arm.

“Y/N, can we talk about this at home?”

It was silent between the three. Y/N turned and walked away, moving out of Charles' grasp.

“Hey, you’re going the wrong way!” Raven called, and Y/N didn’t even look back, just continuing to walk.

“Y/N? Hey, Y/N! What the bloody hell are you doing?” Charles practically ran, finally catching up. “Stop walking away. Don’t make me-“

“You already have! You know everything you want to about me!” Y/N yelled, wiping her face and hair. Charles looked at her, and she knew he was in her mind. She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about him and his eyes and his hair and how she was so in love with him,

“Y/N,” Charles said softly, and she knew that it was too late. He had looked, even when she told him not to. He knew now.

“Please, just, leave me alone.” She said, walking away. Raven and Charles watched, both too shocked to say anything to the girl that was now walking away from them.

~

Charles regretted letting Y/N walk away. It had been a week since he had seen her, and he had thought she would come back last night. He tried to find her, but she seemed just out of reach most of the time. It was frustrating to say the least. He had tried Cerebro, but she knew when he was in her head even before he even called out to her. Once he had her location, she would leave.

He knew where she was that night, however. She was at the bar, the same one the three had been at the day she walked away. He had almost exhausted himself to find her without Cerebro, the connection so weak she wouldn’t be able to know he was even there.

And there she was, standing in a dress Charles had never seen her in. His heart skipped a beat as he looked at her. She had her back turned, but Charles still thought she was the only girl in the room. A thought ran through his head, that maybe she had known he was coming.

Why did he let her leave? Why did he let her just walk away from him? Why was he talking to that girl the night of their fight?

He hated himself for it.

Charles fought himself not to go inter her mind, to see if she was even thinking about him. He didn’t want to betray her trust by looking at what she was thinking. He let his eyes drift from her bare legs to the bottom of her dress, which was purple. Charles had to shake his head to calm down. His eyes traveled further up, studying her curves. He got to her shoulder, where the thin straps lay, making her collar bones pop. When he finally got to her head, the loose curls falling in front and behind her, he saw it.

Y/N was talking to a man. He had dark hair and light eyes. He was tall, muscular.

Charles wasn’t jealous.

He almost stormed in, but then she turned. They made eye contact, and Charles felt his heart stop beating. Logically, he knew this hadn’t happened, but it felt like it as they locked eyes. She raised an eyebrow, and Charles belatedly realized that she had gotten into the mansion while he was out, as she was wearing makeup and holding her favorite clutch that she brought everywhere. There was much more than normal, but she looked beautiful all the same. Her hair was curled in a way he had never seen, and Charles’ breath left him. He couldn’t feel his legs as she winked at him, and then turned back to the man. Charles realized that she had let him find her, this was her plan, not his. He sat at a booth, putting his hands to his temple. Charles finally made his way into her mind.

Well thank God you finally found me, Professor. Y/N thought, and Charles frowned.

You wanted me to find you. Charles said into her mind, and he watched as she smirked, still listening to the man in front of her even though her reactions were for him.

Where did you get your degree? Because I thought that was common knowledge before you came. She said, and Charles let out a sigh.

Who’s the man? I thought you said bar people aren’t the people we need to be with. Charles said, and the smirk faltered. He wondered if he had made the right choice with that comment.

Did I? I believe you’re the one who disputed me on that. She said snarkily, before opening her mouth to reply to the man. Charles knew she barely had a clue what the other man was saying, too focused on the conversation in her mind.

Yes, well, I think I realized I was wrong. Charles said when he saw her finish talking, and she shook her head, laughing to play it off.

Did you? Because I don’t believe you. She said, putting a hand on the other man’s arm. Charles glared at her. He was about to respond when someone came up.

“Are you alright sir?” A girl in a white shirt and a black skirt came up. Charles smiled, barely even taking in what the girl looked like before speaking.

“Just forget I’m here.” He said, and the girl blinked before walking back behind the counter

She was cute. Charles wasn’t sure if Y/N was thinking this for him or if she was just thinking it, but he responded to her anyway.

Bar girls aren’t my style. Charles said, and Y/N laughed out loud, making the man next to her chuckle.

Really? What changed in a week? She asked, and he took a deep breath, heart now pounding out of his chest.

You. He said simply as she took a drink of whiskey. He had caught her off guard, and she coughed, the glass in her hand dropping. It startled Charles enough to break their connection, and he watched as the man jumped back, Y/N staring at the ground.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get some napkins.” The man said, and Y/N nodded. She hadn’t expected him to be so forward; hell, she had expected him to come and beg her back for the team. He was asking for himself, because he wanted her. Charles watched the other man move away, and when he looked back at Y/N, she was staring at him. He slid out of the booth, walking to her.

“I’m sorry, love. I messed up.” Charles said, grabbing her hand. She just stared at him, mouth slightly open.

“Hey, Y/N, who’s this?” The man said, and the pair turned to see him holding napkins.

“This is Professor Charles Xavier.” Y/N said, and when Charles looked down at her he didn’t need to read her mind to know that she wanted an out. He didn’t know where she was staying, but it was probably exhausting being on the run. Luckily, he knew the perfect excuse.

“Her boyfriend.” Charles removed his hand from hers and put it around her waist.

“Yeah.” Y/N said, moving closer and putting a hand on his chest. The man looked confused, and Charles almost felt bad.

“Oh, I thought you were-“

“I know. We were fighting, but that doesn’t give me the excuse to say I was single. I am sorry, Jax.” Y/N said, and Charles raised his eyebrows.

“Right, sorry.” Jax seemed to be uncomfortable now. Y/N grabbed Charles’ sweater, trying to tell him she wanted to leave.

“Don’t worry about the glass.” An employee said behind them, and the pair turned to see her picking up the pieces.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeated to the employee, and they turned around to see that Jax was gone. “Let’s go.” Y/N said, walking away. Charles grabbed her hand, and she looked up at them as they left the bar.

“Did you mean it?” Y/N asked after a couple minutes of walking in the dark silence. Charles thought for a second as they kept walking, and it made Y/N’s heart drop. Why would he mean it? She wasn’t important.

“Why do you think like that?” Charles finally asked, and she was almost shocked silent. She had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t even realized he was as well. She looked up at him, trying to get a read on his emotions, but he blocked her out. Like he always did.

“So you’re always listening to my thoughts now?”

“You’re thoughts are so loud. It’s like you want me to hear them.” Charles said, and she scoffed.

“You didn’t answer me.” Y/N said after awhile. They were almost at the mansion.

“I didn’t think I needed to. Why would I lie to you?” Charles asked, and Y/N shook her head.

“It’s not like you haven’t before.” Y/N said as they made their way to the road the mansion was on.

“When have I ever lied to you?” Charles asked, and Y/N sighed.

“Well, why would you flirt with that girl at the bar?”

“Why did you flirt with the guy?”

“To make you jealous, of course.” She answered without hesitation. He could read her mind, anyway, so it’s not like he wouldn’t eventually figure it out. Charles’ eyebrows raised, and she tried not to look at him, even though she knew he could read her mind at any moment. She would let him, it didn’t matter now, but it was embarrassing looking at him.

“Well,” Charles said, stopping in front of the driveway to the mansion. He lifted her chin, and she leaned, the two kissing. It was soft and pure, a nice first kiss. “Challenge succeeded, love.”

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin pt. 4 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series

~Elain~

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” 

That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? That’s what they say in movies, I think. Does it count if it isn’t in Italian?

I rub a hand across my forehead, shaking my head at myself. I’m not even religious. I haven’t been to church since I grew out of the pastel pink Easter dress my mother used to love forcing me into.

Yet here I am, sitting in a dark, hot box, attempting to confess my sins.

I think I’m losing it. 

Five days with no Azriel, and I’m turning to religion.

The dark shadow on the other side of the confessional doesn’t help me in the slightest or even tell me if I’m doing this right. He just sits in silence and waits for me to pour my heart and soul out.

So I say, in an embarrassingly shaky tone, “Well, I... I’ve been sleeping with someone.”

That gets me a low hm.

“Someone I shouldn’t have.” Before he can get the wrong idea, I blurt, “He’s not married or anything. At least, I don’t think so. God, what if he’s married? Oh, I probably shouldn’t say God’s name in vain in church. Sorry.”

Father gives a deep sigh, and I take that to mean I should hurry up. “Anyway, he’s just... not a good guy. I won’t confess his sins for him, but believe me, he’s committed his fair share.”

Still nothing. 

I think he’s waiting for the actual confession part of this thing.

So I say the words I’ve been trying to fight for the last five days. “I told him I don’t want to see him anymore, but I don’t think... I don’t think that’s really true.”

Another hm, this time more thoughtful. 

“I keep thinking about him, all the time. Even though I know it’s wrong. He’s like a tumor.”

There’s a huff, like he’s amused. 

“I’m worried I’m not a good enough person to say away from him,” I murmur quietly, which is the understatement of the century. 

I know I’m not, which is why I’m here. 

I’m pre-confessing, because if the way Azriel’s been on my mind the past couple of days is any indication, it’s only a matter of time before I get desperate enough to call him and tell him his... occupation doesn’t change things.

There’s a bit of a pause, like he doesn’t know how to reply, and then for the first time, I get an actual response. In a very thick, very German accent, the... priest? replies, “His sins are not yours.”

He’s taking the stance opposite of what I thought he would, but that’s a good point. Good enough I don’t bother asking myself why a German priest is in an Italian church.

“True, but if I stay with him, aren’t I condoning them? Don’t they become mine?”

“His sins are not yours,” he repeats.

Helpful.

I’m about to ask for a little bit of actual advice when he asks, “Do you regret it?”

“No,” I answer almost immediately, knowing that no matter how much I hate what Azriel does, I could never regret the time I spent with him.

He’s silent, probably thinking of my punishment for being such a scheming harlot.

I’ll likely have to do a million hail Mary’s once this conversation is over.

But instead of telling me I’m going to hell, he surprises me by asking, “So you plan to sleep with him again?”

There was something familiar about the tone of his voice, but I don’t know anyone German, so I don’t ponder it for long. His question doesn’t require pondering, either.

“No,” I answered with fake certainty, even though the thought of never having Azriel’s calloused hands all over me makes me unspeakably sad.

“Are you sure? Forgiveness from the Lord requires... repentance.”

I sigh at that, hesitating even though I shouldn’t. “I’m sure. No matter how much I want to or think about it, I can’t.”

“I think you should.”

My mouth drops open, not only because the words he just said or the sudden disappearance of his accent, but because the screen separating me from the man on the other side of the confessional drops, revealing the bane of all my problems.

Azriel sticks a cigarette between his full lips, lights it casually, and smiles the devil’s smile. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demand, barely resisting the urge to fling myself over to his side and strangle him.

“Listening to a very insincere confession.” Even though I narrow my eyes in the most threatening gesture I can make, he continues, “You know, if you feel like you need punishing, I can always take you over my knee.”

A strange tingle shoots through me and makes my spin straighten, but I ignore it and glare at him harder.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I look him over, ignoring how good it is to see him and asking, “Aren’t you worried you’re going to catch on fire?”

He grins, blowing smoke around him. “If I’m the devil, does that make you my angel?”

“I’m not your anything.”

He just watches me and smokes his cigarette, something I’m sure is frowned upon in church. Probably right beneath sneaking into a private confessional. 

“Are you even religious?”

My lips twitch as I lie and say, “Recently converted.”

Azriel braces his arms in the small hole of the wall between us, looking unconvinced. “Yeah? What are the Ten Commandments?”

My head tilts as my eyes narrow. “I don’t know them all, but I have to believe one is about not killing people.”

“Number six,” he tells me, surprising me with the fact that he knows that. “You know, there’s also one about not stealing. And I happen to know for a fact you stole my sunglasses that day we were on the beach.”

Comparing those two sins is so ridiculous, a laugh bubbles out of me. He killed someone, yet by his logic I’m just as bad a sinner.

I knew this religion thing wasn’t for me.

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I ask, trying to get back to normal footing.

He takes so long to respond, I’m almost convinced he isn’t even going to bother. He runs a hand across his jaw, through his hair. Looks around at the plain little booth. Smokes some more.

When I’m about to give up and just leave, he says quietly, “I can’t stop thinking about you, either.”

My heart starts to pick up pace. “Yeah?”

I know I shouldn’t encourage this conversation, but hearing that he thinks about me the way I think about him... it means something to me.

“Yeah,” he agrees after a few moments, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. 

It falls silent, and something grows in the silence, building between us until all I’m aware of are the small sweeps of his thumb against my cheekbone. 

I don’t know if he pulls me forward or if I take the step myself, but suddenly I’m right in front of him, our faces lined up through the small hole in the wall.

There’s a Bible in a little cubby that’s pressing into my stomach, and I’m sure there’s no better sign to resist sin than literal scripture digging into you, but I can’t bring myself to care.

It’s been less than a week without him, but it’s like my body is touched starved. The single inch where we’re connected is a live wire, and I close my eyes, trying to figure out what we were even talking about.

Releasing a tense breath that sounds a whole lot like relief, he slides his hand to the nape of my neck and leans his head to rest against mine. 

“Fuck,” he says, like it’s an all-encompassing statement and not a single word. “Come back to me, carro.”

He smells like rain and smoke and something dangerous I never understood until now, and it’s so intoxicating I almost lose myself. Brushing my nose against his, I breathe him in over and over, never getting used to it. “You want me?”

A nod, so small it’s almost imperceptible. But it’s there, and we both know it. 

Making sure my lips brush his, I lean in and whisper, “Then beg for me.”

He goes still, tension coming to rest in the hands still gripping my nape.

See, I realized something in the five days since I last saw him. 

He wants me to say that him being in the mafia doesn’t change anything, confess to lying about it in the first place, and beg him to fuck me, yet hasn’t even apologized for lying to me in the first place.

Sure, I lied, but he got us in this mess, not me.

So he gets to beg.

Azriel pulls back, and there’s such dark depths in his eyes that I shiver. “What did you just say?”

I don’t respond, because I don’t need to. We both know he heard me. 

He releases me with a huff, stepping back and practically growling, “No.”

Raising an eyebrow, I challenge, “Why is it different? You want me to confess to lying about saying that what you do changes things? Fine. I confess, Azriel. I have feelings for you that, whether or not I like it, outweigh the moral part of me that tells me to run in the opposite direction.”

Despite how casually I say it, that realization almost breaks me to admit. 

I realized it when he popped up in this booth, looking every bit the villain and completely making my day. Wrong or not, he makes me happy.

“You have my confession, but you know what? I want yours.”

He shakes his head, seeming to not understand, so I elaborate. “I want you to actually apologize for lying to me. I want you to admit that you put me in an impossible situation, then acted like it wasn’t a big deal. And I want you to beg for my forgiveness.”

The muscles in his jaw are clenched so hard I don’t think he can even open his mouth, but he manages to say, “That will never happen.”

Something inside my chest collapses, so suddenly and painfully I can’t hardly breathe. I hadn’t realized how much I needed it until now, how much it actually meant to me. 

The fact that he won’t make that compromise for me threatens to send my emotions scattering, so I stiffen my spine and force the words out.

“Then we’re done.”

He smacks a hand against the wall of the booth but doesn’t say anything, not even as I fling open the door and flee. 

I rush through the thankfully empty pews and outside, right into a downpour. 

The urge to laugh rises as I become instantly soaked, my dress sticking to me and my hair flattening to my head. It isn’t funny, and would be considered normal any other time or place, but we’ve had a month of paradise without a single rainy day. 

Until right now. It’s almost like the sky’s mood matches mine. 

Practically running, I make my way towards the townhouse. At least it’s close, I think as I hurry. If it was far away I’d probably collapse in a side alley and just let the rain wash me away. 

When I reach the door, unlocking it in a hurry, I feel someone walk up behind me. Stepping inside, I turn to see Azriel staring down at me.

Rain washes over the planes of his face, and while I probably look like a wet rat, he looks like something out of a movie.

"Why do you need this?” he asks, the anger thick in his voice. 

“Why do you?”

He doesn’t make a move to come in, practically ignoring the rain as he asks in a dry tone, “You mean why do I need to hear that what I do and have done--that this fucking life I was forced into--doesn’t make me a monster?”

“Azriel-”

“Because you’re the one person in this entire goddamn world who knows me.”

I give him a look that conveys how little I believe that. 

I don’t know anything about him. That’s the problem.

He shakes his head. “You know who I could’ve been, Elain.” 

It’s my turn to shake my head, because I don’t understand.

He seems to make the decision of whether or not to tell me at once, saying, “Who I could’ve been if I hadn’t been born into a sadistic fucking family who beat the shit out of me for existing.”

Raw anguish lines his voice, and I stop breathing, stop thinking. 

“You know who I wanted to be, who I dreamed of being, when I was in the hospital with a fractured skull or in lockup for stealing a car to run away.” He throws a hand out, yelling, “I didn’t ask for this shit! I wanted to be who I am with you. But when someone came and said they could get me out of the life I knew would kill me, I fucking said yes. And I don’t regret it.”

Tears are streaming down my face, mixing with the rain bouncing off the door. I never knew. “Azriel...”

“The day my older brother took a hammer to my hands because I scratched his CD was the last time I apologized. And I haven’t begged for anything since I was old enough to know better.”

There’s a set to his jaw, a hardness in his body I’ve never seen. “But none of this shit even matters, and it isn’t an excuse, because you’re right.”

The rain comes somehow harder, almost drowning us, but I’m rooted to this spot.

Especially as Azriel slowly lowers himself to his knees, right there on the threshold of the door. 

“I’m sorry, Elain. I’m sorry I lied to you and put you in this position and acted like an ass about it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I shake my head again, whispering, “Stop.”

I can’t bear for him to be like this after hearing what he said, can’t bear to be the reason for the strain in his voice.

He doesn’t listen. Just looks up at me with such open, deep eyes I almost choke. “Please.”

A sob escapes me as I make the decision instantly, falling to my knees and throwing myself at him.

He grunts as we collide, but I capture the sound with my mouth, seeming to take him off guard as I kiss him without abandon.

His hair is like wet silk between my fingers, and I realize the door’s still open and that rain is still getting everywhere, but I don’t care about anything but him.

His hands grip my waist, holding me steady, as I kiss him until I’m breathless, until I know he’ll believe me. 

“You’re not a monster,” I tell him, pulling back to palm either side of his face. “I know you, and I know you’re not a monster.”

He leans in again, but I keep going, knowing that he needs to hear this as much as I need to say it.

“I decided before I saw you today that what you do doesn’t change things for me. I just want you.” 

The knowledge of how deep we’re in this settles between us, growing into something undeniable as we stare at each other.

This time, when he kisses me again, I don’t stop him.

We fall over, him landing on top of me, and roll until we’re far enough inside that he can kick the door closed.

It’s silent besides the sound of our breathing, the rain pounding against the windows, and the deep, wet slide of our mouths coming together.

I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pulls back long enough to rip it off. His skin’s hot compared to the cool water all over us, and I’m dizzy on the feel of him. I feel like I can’t get enough, can’t have him fast enough.

His hands are rough against me, tilting my head where he wants it, gripping my hips, putting my arms above my head.

Reaching between us, he fists the thin fabric of my dress, and then there’s a ripping sound I don’t even care to protest because now his skin’s against mine, and I don’t think anything has felt better.

A thumb on my jaw pushes my head to the side, and then his mouth is on my neck and he’s kissing me over the spot where my pulse flutters as proof of my pounding heart. 

I tug his belt open, and he toes his boots off, pulling back to finish getting rid of his jeans then settling back over me.

I tilt my hips up, not able to take the wait anymore, but he has more self control, taking the time to kiss my throat, my jaw, the tip of my nose.

“Please,” I beg. “I need you. Please, Azriel.”

He’s inside me with the next breath, filling me so deeply I can’t think. 

“Merda,” he curses, forehead dropping to mine. “Questa figa e stata fatta per me.”

The dirty words just make me burn hotter. 

Or maybe it’s the fact that I have one of the most dangerous men in the world between my thighs, waxing poetic about sex with me.

His teeth tug on my earlobe, and I arch up into him, making him sink deeper in me. 

“Dimmi- shit,” Azriel chuckles, almost like he didn’t realize he wasn’t speaking English. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Knowing that won’t happen, I nod and open my mouth to ask him to hurry up with it.

But I never get the chance, because the next second, he’s pulling out and slamming into me so hard I slide across the floor. I don’t get far, because one arm goes under my head to grip my shoulder and the other lifts my leg to keep it in place. 

And then he starts to move.

His hips hit mine hard enough to bruise, his mouth is demanding against mine, and his grip on my shoulder is unshakeable. It’s rough and restrictive and something I never knew I needed.

He’s turned me into this wanton, thoughtless thing, and all I can do is burn and burn and pray I survive. 

A moan escapes me with every thrust, almost like he’s pushing them out of me, and I know I’m loud enough the sweet old lady next door will hear, but I can’t stop. 

“You have to be quiet, or this’ll be over before I’m ready,” he warns in a breathy voice that makes it even harder to keep quiet.

It gets worse as he starts to repeatedly hit the spot only he’s been able to find, like he’s in perfect sync with my body. 

“Fuck, Azriel,” I moan, losing my mind at how good he feels against me. 

I try to fight it off, try to prolong this longer, but one of his hands slips to my throat. And as he lightly squeezes the sides, the blood rushes through me in a heady current, I come so hard I almost pass out.

Shaking beneath him, I release a loud moan he covers my mouth to stifle. When he pulls it away, I see slight indentations and realize I must’ve bit him. 

I make a note to apologize later. Even if the way his eyes go almost black tells me he isn’t mad about it. 

I’m almost comatose, but he isn’t even finished. He just grits his teeth, pauses to throw my leg over his shoulder, and keeps going.

My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and trying to keep him exactly where he is, doing exactly what he’s doing.

Thunder breaks outside, but it isn’t loud enough to mask the sound of us coming together or the moans he’s no longer masking.

Despite my body being sensitized and exhaused, when he cups my cheek, kisses me softly, and says, “Come with me,” I do.

He groans, hips churning messily against mine, as release finds us both. My legs shake, squeeze his waist like a vice, then go limp. 

All of me does, actually. I’m boneless and pliant and couldn’t move if I was paid to.

Azriel isn’t much better off, collapsing on top of me and suffocating me with his warm weight. 

“Holy shit,” I whisper after a moment, smiling at the amused huff he lets out. 

Air starts to become hard to find, so he rolls off me, then sits to lean his back against the door.

“We’re on the floor,” he says, almost like he didn’t even notice before now.

I shrug, not caring in the slightest. “I can’t move, so we’re going to have to stay here.”

He chuckles, something entirely male in his eyes as he looks at me. My cheeks grow warm as he looks at the complete mess at apex of my thighs and murmurs, “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

“You are so inappropriate,” I mumble, covering my face with my hands.

Nodding his agreement, he grips my hips and practically drags me on top of him. “You like it, though,” he teases, putting a sweet kiss to my lips. 

“I do,” I admit, kissing him again. 

Something brushes against my thigh, and I look down between us, then raise a brow. I knew he had stamina, but this is...

“Consider it making up for lost time.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, and he smiles, one of those full, beautiful smiles I’m helpless to resist. 

I know everything’s complicated now and I know he does horrible things, but when he smiles at me like that, it’s hard to care about anything except how happy he makes me. Right or wrong, good or bad, there’s something between us I’m powerless against. 

“It’s been five days,” I remind him, running my hands up his chest and into his hair. “Better get started.”

~

The floor. The wall. The stairs. The shower.

He gives me a tour of my own house, fucking me on every inch of available space. 

I’m just as much to blame, I guess. Any time he tries to do anything besides me, I tug him back, unable to stop myself. 

He’s the drug I’m happily overdosing on, and fuck, does it feel good.

When we finally end up in bed hours later, I expect to immediately pass out. He definitely looks tired, and I’m sure I’m not much better, considering the amount of... activity my body’s been through tonight.

But despite the lingering exhaustion, we lay there, just looking at each other.

There’s still so much left unsaid, so many unanswered questions and untold stories, but I don’t want to ruin the moment by talking, much less asking questions, so I stay quiet.

His lips twitch, almost like he can see what I’m thinking.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he murmurs a second later, proving that thought correct. “I won’t lie to you again.”

I nod, thinking of what I want to ask first. 

I also think about the pain in his eyes earlier, when he gave me that piece of himself. I don’t ever want to be the cause of that pain, so I ask something I assume is unrelated. 

“Who was the man I hit with the wine bottle?”

The corner of his lips tip up. “That was Luca. I guess you could say he’s my friend, but more officially he’s my Underboss. We worked our way up through the ranks together.”

“You’ve known him a long time then?”

He nods, propping his head up with an arm. “We were in prison together.”

Questions bloom, but I don’t want to pry, so-

“I was sentenced to three years for grand theft auto and another for assaulting the cop who booked me. Luca was in for intent to sell.” 

At my blank look, he says, “Drugs, Elain.”

“Oh.” I feel stupid as hell, so I deflect by asking, “You were cellmates?”

“No,” he laughs, running a hand over his jaw thoughtfully. “But after he saved my ass from getting jumped one day, we stuck together.”

It’s quiet until I ask, “How’d you get out?”

“Well, this was in Chicago-” 

My eyes grow wide as I cut him off. “You’re from Chicago? You’re American?” 

He laughs at the disbelief in my voice, nodding while my brain explodes. He’d never told me, but I’d just assumed he was born in Sicily. 

“Anyway, this was in Chicago. I was seventeen, but got tried as an adult because of my record with juvie. I spent two years inside, then the Capo there just showed up one day and told me he could get me out.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I remember it like it happened yesterday. He’s only three years older than me, but he was wearing a two-thousand dollar suit and had everything I didn’t. He said he needed someone to work for him, to do the shit no one wanted to.”

Sliding closer, I prop my head up with a hand. “And that was you?”

“He said he looked at my records and that I had potential.” He laughs, almost unbelieving. “I was nothing more than an angry fuckup from the south side, and he said I had potential. He said he knew who my father and brothers were and could help me get revenge. I knew it was crazy, but I said yes. On the condition Luca got out, too.”

My eyebrows go up as he says, “We were out the next day.”

“Powerful friends,” I mutter. 

He toys with the ends of my hair, slight smile on his face.

“I worked in Chicago for about a year, then was sent here. He said he needed someone over here he could trust. My family’s Italian, so I knew the language, and with my baggage, I wanted out of the city anyway.” He takes a deep breath, running his hand down my arm. “So I moved here and worked my way up.”

He picks my hand up, measuring the difference between our palms.

“And now you’re Capo.”

“Mmhm.” 

Tugging my hand, he pulls me closer, burying his head in my neck and inhaling. 

“I have the Capo of the Sicilian Mafia in my bed,” I remark almost unbelievingly, making him laugh.

He shifts to lay down, holding me in his arms, and I marvel at how small and delicate I feel with him. My head’s against his chest, and he’s curled around me, making me sigh. 

“The Capo is a snuggler,” I murmur, running my hands across the smooth expanse of his back and smiling when he makes a low sound of contentment.

“I haven’t slept the past five days,” he tells me. “I couldn’t sleep without you in my bed. You have no idea how much it pissed me off at the time.”

Laughing, I snuggle closer. He’s so big and warm, and I’m so tired. 

Eyes struggling to stay open, I realize I never told him something. 

“You’re forgiven,” I whisper. 

I feel his lips on my brow, kissing me so gently my heart clenches. And I swear I hear him say something, but I’m soo tired to stay awake to hear it.

I fall asleep in his arms, and even though he’s dangerous and everything I should hate, it’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt.

I’ve said the past month with him has felt like a fairy tale, and that’s true. 

Maybe just not with the knight in shining armor, but with the villain instead.

______________________________________________

stole a couple lines from Danielle Lori

Part 5

@elorcan-trash @acreativelydifferentlove @loosingdreams @poisonous00 @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod​ @full-tilt-diva​ @biggestwingspan-az​ @bookstantrash​ @mari-highladyof-feels​ @pilesofriles​ @teddytdr​ @perseusannabeth​ @cursebreaker29​ @a-bit-of-a-cactus​ @elriel4life​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @shinya-hiiragi​ @bamchickawowow​ @live-the-fangirl-life​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @autophobiax​ @rowaelinismyotp​ @nahthanks​ @ghostlyrose2​ @lovemollywho​ @inardour​ @tillyrubes10​ @tswaney17​ @greerlunna​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @awesomelena555​ @booksofthemoon​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

[supercorpkid]

How Maya Met Your Mothers.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 2730.

You’ve always known the day for Maya to meet your moms were closer than further down the line. That’s a fact. You had asked for too much self-control from Kara, not to follow your girlfriend around everywhere (and you are not even sure if she didn’t try to at least get a peek). But, yet, you had expected you were going to have a little more time than this.

Jamie and Maya came over your house for a study session. For real. When Jamie mentioned that you all should study together for next week exams, at first you thought it was a joke. But then Maya got super interested in having you teaching her physics, so you agreed.

You don’t know why you all ended up at your house. Actually, you kind of know. Maya’s parents hate the Luthors, so you can’t go there. Jamie’s house is a little bit further away and they would probably get tired of walking before getting there. Still, you feel like you haven’t fought back enough. You should’ve.

Although, being fair to yourself, you couldn’t possibly know there was a storm coming to National City that would literally make it impossible for you three to leave the house for hours. So, while there was a storm raging outside, you were looking at the clock, hoping, praying, wishing that Kara and Lena got held up at work.

Which could be true, using all the logic in your body. The rain is so strong, Supergirl will be needed for sure. There are probably people stuck in cars, or maybe there’s a flood in someone’s house, maybe there’s a poor kitten stuck on a tree in the rain. There’s gotta be something. And Lena is probably stuck in her office unable to leave. You breathe out, calming yourself. If Lena doesn’t leave her office early every day, she is definitely not leaving today while a storm rages on.

But when the clock strikes five, your heart beats fast, you raise your head from your book and you hear a whoosh of air, that very familiar one. Steps on the front door. And please Rao, let it be robbers, assassins, let it be Lex fucking Luthor out of jail with a big rock of kryptonite, but not your moms. Please. Please.

But is Kara who first walks in. Pink trousers, even pinkier shirt, dripping wet. And not far behind, Lena walks in. Suit all ruined, ponytail glued to her face, also dripping everywhere. Your heart stops for a second, when you look up from the kitchen table where the three of you have settled.

“Wow, it’s so crazy out there! Good thing we flew-” Kara finally notices a face she doesn’t know. She quickly puts her glasses back. “Here on a car.”

Good Lord.

“Hey, I don’t think we have met!” She comes closer, ignoring Lena’s protests about making the entire house wet. She raises her hand at Maya, who shyly takes it.

“Maya.”

“OOOH!” Kara sounds like she just got electrocuted. She is almost jumping in place when she realizes what that means. “It’s nice to meet you! I would love to say that she-” She looks at you with an inquisitive expression. “Told me everything about you, but she’s definitely going through a phase of secret keeping.”

“Momma!” You growl hiding your face in your hands. Maya just chuckles softly at that.

“Aren’t we all?” Jamie intervenes, sensing your embarrassment and you take one hand out from your face to look at Kara pulling the chair in front of you.

“Kara!” Lena calls her from the front door. “Don’t you dare get my chair wet. Come over here, you can embarrass our daughter after you’re dry.”

“Or never.” You add. “You also can embarrass me never.”

“I’ll be right back.” Kara says, completely ignoring you, as she makes her way to the laundry room with Lena, so they can get dry clothes.

“I’m sorry.” You drop your head, trying to hide the blush creeping up your face. Maya puts her hand on your chin and makes you look at her, giving you a smile.

“Stop that. It was really cute.” Maya says, and you gaze into her eyes, almost forgetting everything and everyone. If it wasn’t for Jamie.

“Nope, it was embarrassing. And just you wait until aunt Lena comes here.” Jamie adds and you drop your head again, growling louder.

Lena decides not to play into the ‘let’s embarrass our daughter’ game. And you’re very grateful for that.

“Hey.” She just says while passing through the table. And you breathe relieved. Until she stops with a tiny smile. No, no, no. Keep walking. “Hello Maya, I’m Lena. The scary mom.”

“You wish.” Kara comes from behind her. Hair is still dripping wet, but all changed into more comfortable and dry clothes. She pulls out the chair and sits in front of the three of you, trying to look intimidating. “I’m the scary one.”

“She’s really not.” Jamie whispers in Maya’s ear, and you put your head on the table, banging your forehead ever so slightly so you don’t make a dent in it.

“Would you stop, please?” You complain. “We’re trying to study.”

“BOOOO!” Kara puts her hands in front of her mouth turning to you. “You’re no fun.” Then she proceeds to look at Maya. “So Maya, how old are you? What’s your sexuality? Where do you see yourself in five years? And most importantly, how do you feel about Supergirl?”

You snap your head at her at the sound of that.

“Because in this house we’re Supergirl stans.” Kara adds, making Jamie laugh out loud, and you grunt louder.

“Oh, I’m-” Maya thinks about it for a second.

“You don’t have to answer any of that.” You look at her and she smiles at you.

“It’s ok, babe.” She turns back at Kara. “I’m sixteen, I’m pansexual-” That makes Kara squeak in excitement. “In college, hopefully. And yes, Supergirl is cool. But, um, I like Superkid better.”

“WHAT?” You look at her, eyes wide open, mouth agape. She doesn’t know you’re Superkid, and she likes her better than Supergirl? Is she the perfect girl?

“Well, ok, don’t freak out, but…” She looks at you and holds your arm, squeezing it gently. “I kind of have a crush on Superkid.”

“You do?” It’s all you can say.

Kara is practically jumping on her seat, ready to stand up and spin you around in excitement. Lena is trying very hard to hold back laughter (she’s failing, by the way). Jamie is literally cackling next to her. And you’re there, looking red, but also happy.

“Why is this funny?” Maya looks around at the reactions. “She is hot.”

“Oh no, dear, we’re not laughing at you.” Lena says, knowing the situation doesn’t look good. “It’s just, you know, she is the Supergirl of your time.” She shrugs. “I, for once, had a huge crush on Supergirl when I was younger.”

“Wait. What?” Kara stands up, looking worried. “You don’t have it anymore?”

“Well, no, honey.” Lena smiles, putting her arms around Kara’s neck. “Now I have you.”

“No!” You yell to stop what you know it’s coming next. “That’s too much. There are people here.”

“We’ll give you guys some privacy.” Kara tilts her head with a devious smile. Holding Lena by the waist, leaving you guys behind.

“I’m sorry again. They’re not usually like-” You start, but Jamie cuts you off.

“She is lying. They are always like this.”

“It’s ok.” Maya gives you a butterfly kiss that barely touches your lips, but makes you smile either way. “Besides, I find your momma completely fascinating.”

“Funny. So does she.” You can hear Kara gasping somewhere in the house and you hold a laughter. She is such a dork!

Your moms are gone for a while, during that time you three go back to study. Kara comes in sometime later on her phone.

“Yes Alex, she’s not lying, she is actually here studying.” Kara points the camera to the three of you, and Jamie crosses her arms, annoyed. You just wave hello.

“You thought I was lying?” Jamie complains.

“I never once saw you studying with your cousin, forgive me for assuming you were being a rebellious teenager.” You hear Alex’s voice on the other end of the phone. “But I see there’s a new addition to the group.”

“That’s Maya.” Kara whispers on the phone like you all can’t hear her.

“Oh.” Alex stays silent for a few seconds and then you hear. “Hey, I work for the police. You just think about breaking my niece’s heart.”

“Oh my God, can you all stop?” You grunt looking at Jamie for help, and she stands up going to Kara and grabbing the phone from her hand.

“Can you come pick me up when the storm gets better?” Jamie asks and she walks to the living room with Kara following her closely.

“Again, I’m really sorry.” You look at Maya with pleading eyes. “I know you probably want to run away, but please, don’t. My mom is probably going to try to scare you, but we’re all very much harmless.” You smile a little. “Except for Jamie’s mom, she is terrifying.”

“Trust me, I’m ok.” Maya looks furtive around, and puts her hand on your cheek, coming closer to kiss you. “I get why they’re so protective. I mean, just look at this cute babyish face of yours.”

“She can call you babyface and I can’t?” Kara walks in the kitchen with Jamie not far behind, making Maya jump in her seat and get as far away from you as she can, without leaving her chair.

“So, Maya.” Lena walks in the kitchen too, and you’re already hating her tone. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Um, I should call my mom first.” She stands up grabbing her phone, and you point to the living room so she can have more privacy. She leaves and you look at your moms on the other side of the counter.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You stand up, putting your books away. “I couldn’t possibly know a storm would hit National City making impossible for her to get away from you two.”

“Hey!” Kara defends herself. Lena only raises her eyebrow. You look at Kara, turning her head to the living room, and you poke her.

“Do not listen to her private conversation!” You demand and you look back at Jamie, also organizing her school materials.

“Yeah, aunt Kara. Don't use your super hearing, aunt Kara. Bad, aunt Kara. Yadda, yadda, yadda.” Jamie says and you furrow your brows at her. “What, she only does what she wants anyways.”

“Momma!” You’re almost jumping in front of her and she looks down on you. “That’s not ok.”

“Kara, stop messing with her.” Lena says from behind and Kara gives you a mischievous smile, like she wasn’t really listening, just pretending to. “Are you sleeping here tonight, Jamie?”

“Only if the storm doesn’t stop.” Jamie comes to the counter and looks at the food in front of Lena. “Oooh, are we having the famous Lena Luthor’s ‘throw everything in a casserole and see what comes out’ dinner?”

“You were way nicer when you were a kid.” Lena blinks once, looking annoyed and Jamie holds her laughter.

“Sorry, aunt Lena.”

“Hey, so, is it ok if I stay a little longer? My dad is still stuck at work because of the storm.” Maya asks, coming back to the kitchen and you look at Kara. Kara looks at Lena. And it takes them a whole ten seconds to finally go like “um, yeah, sure.” Which almost makes your heart stop.

“Why don’t you three go to the living room while I-” Lena looks at Jamie, defiant. “Throw everything in a casserole and wait to see what will come out?”

“Oh God.” You grab Jamie’s wrist, and put your hand behind Maya’s back. “Let’s go. They’re being awkward.”

“You’re awkward.” Kara mumbles under her breath and you’re glad you only heard, because of your super hearing.

You’re on the edge of your seat the entire time. Maya and Jamie are talking, laughing, taking pictures, and you’re there awkwardly pretending your mind isn’t somewhere else. What are they planning? Obviously, Kara has done enough of embarrassing, but what about Lena? Is she actually going to let it slide? That doesn’t sound like her.

Kara calls you guys back to the kitchen a while later. You know Lena wasn’t going to throw everything into a casserole and hope it works, but after Jamie joked about it, it was exactly what she did. She puts the food in the middle of the table, and raises one eyebrow at Jamie.

“You first.” Then she uses her tone that sends shivers down your spine.

“What is happening?” Maya whispers in your ear, and you look at her feeling like you should apologize once more.

“They’re challenging each other. It’s silly.” You whisper back, aware that only Kara can hear you.

“I can’t stop watching.” Maya mouths at you, and you smile. Lena and Jamie still haven’t broken eye contact and no one is moving.

“Go on.” Lena pushes it closer to Jamie, who gulps and finally serves herself. Everyone is staring at her while she puts the first bite on her mouth and chews silently. She shrugs a while later.

“It’s actually pretty good.” Jamie says with a smile, making everyone breathe out, and Lena rolls her eyes, finally sitting on the table. She then turns to Maya.

“Please. Girlfriends first.” She uses the same tone, and Maya’s eyes almost pop out of their head, before she shakes her head agreeing and serving herself.

The food is not all bad. It could be a lot better if she wasn’t trying to scare everyone off. But is edible and a lot better than anything Kara can make on her own.

“So, Maya…” Kara starts again and you already feel your heart is going to beat out of your chest. “What’s up with the hate for the Luthors?”

Great. Just great. Awesome. Thank you, momma.

Maya chokes on her food, surprised by such a blunt question, and you want to dig a hole on the floor and disappear in it.

“Oh, um. I don’t hate the Luthors, ma’am.” She manages to say. “My parents are not, um, fans. Because of that time Lex tried to control everyone. You know-”

“We know.” Lena breathes deep, looking exhausted. “Trust me, we know.”

“But I know you did amazing things for the world, and every time you work with Supergirl the world is saved, so…” Maya smiles, and you make heart eyes at her. She is so amazing. “I’m sorry about my parents. Not everyone can see past such a small thing as a last name.”

“Oh.” It’s Kara’s response.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Lena says with a smile directed at her, and you see her features softening. “I just want to make sure my daughter is not being judged with the same standards as my crazy brother. But you know her, so I don’t think you can.”

“I really can’t.” Maya looks back at you, making you blush. “There’s no one in this world like her. She needs her own standards.”

“Aw.” Jamie and Kara say together, making you blush harder.

The dinner goes smoothly after this. It’s pretty clear Maya won your moms over. You always knew she could. No, you didn’t know, but you expected. No, you didn’t expect, but you hoped. And she did.

When dinner is over, there’s only a light rain outside, so Maya’s dad picks her up right after. Lena and Jamie make up over ‘the best dessert Lena ever cooked”, and you look around happy. Kara comes close to you and kisses your temple.

“I like her.” She says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, is that why you were trying to make her run away?” You raise one eyebrow at her and she chuckles softly.

“We’re not a normal family, baby.” She tells you, looking at Lena and Jamie laughing on the other side of the counter. “She has to get used to it now. It only gets weirder.”

“You’re weirder.” You bitch grin making Kara laugh.

She’s right though. Your family is weird. But it’s yours, and you love it as it is.

Notes:

@itzyourgirlnat prompted them being stuck in a storm together. My best buddy @hermen0404 helped me with some ideas. Thanks to you both.

[oliviayamaoka]

The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Illustrated Man l Spencer Reid Fic

Pairing: Reader x Spencer Reid 

Category: Fluff

Summary: Spencer comes home from a particularly difficult case, and begins to doubt himself. Reader helps him unwind and helps paint a picture of all the great things about him.

A/N: Helloooooooo friends! Yet again, I thought of a single line of dialogue I really wanted to make work so I spit a thousand words around it to bring it to life lol. Anyways! This fic is free of reader pronouns and gender identifiers, so anyone can read this and make the “I”‘a their own ☺️

P.S. I’ll see what I can do about not disappearing again for weeks on end, but I make no promises

Content warning: None! Except Spencer has his shirt off? But that’s it!

WC: 2.4k

The sound of the door clicking shut and Spencer vacating his lungs of all air drew my head up from my book.

“You’re home!” I cheered, closing my book and getting up to greet him.

He lifted his satchel over his head and gave me a small smile that didn’t touch his eyes. I nodded, mostly to myself, knowing that this meant the case was harder than most. On nights like this, Spencer was hard to reach. I padded my way across the living room and wrapped my arms around him like he might slip away if I didn’t hold him tight enough.

I pulled his head down to rest on my shoulder as his arms snaked around me, wrapping himself in me, too. We stayed like that a while until he stood up and cupped my cheeks in his hands, bringing my face up for a kiss.

‘Hi,” he said softly.

I smiled into his palms. “Hi.”

I took his hands in mine and kissed his knuckles, then led him to our bedroom to get him out of his work clothes. I helped him out of his cardigan and dress shirt, then left him to do the rest while I got him some water. When I returned, he was laying face down across the bed in a pair of sweatpants. His head rested on his crossed arms, and turned to face me when I laid next to him on the bed. I propped my head up one arm and gave him a half smile.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He thought for a moment before giving me a recap of the case, leaving out the gruesome details. I listened and ran my fingers across his back, alternating scratches with swirling patterns on the soft skin. Sometimes my hand would find itself at the nape of his neck and work through the hair there.

As he spoke, his voice became more resolved and tired. He worked so hard, but the things he saw, the things this job had put him through weighed on him. He was strong and incredibly smart, but just because he carried it well didn’t mean the load wasn’t heavy.

I took a deep breath and spoke gently, not wanting to offend him. “Maybe you can take some time off?” I suggested.

He shook his head, his chin brushing his hands folded under his chin.

“The team needs me. These victims and their families need me.”

I bit my tongue. I needed him, too. But this was hardly the time to bring that up.

“But this job,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “It takes pieces of me I can’t get back, and I’m scared all I am is the parts I’ve managed to pick up off of the ground.”

I closed my eyes and wished away the tears forming in my eyes. I heard him take a deep breath but he didn’t say anything else.

“I have an idea. Stay there.”

His head lifted and his eyes followed me around the room to our closet where my painting supplied resided.

“I’m going to paint you.”

“Paint me?”

I turned around, a towel in one hand and my box of paints and brushes in the other. “Yes. You’re gonna lay here and talk to me about anything in the world and I’m going to paint you.”

His eyes scanned the contents of my hands. I could see the gears in his head turning for a moment before he shrugged and gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

I ran a hand through his hair and bent down to kiss his forehead before climbing on the bed and straddling his thighs, setting my supplies on the towel beside us. “Talk to me.”

His head cocked to the side as he contemplated his answer.

“Not about work,” I clarified.

I felt his laugh beneath me. “Okay then, what would you like me to tell you about?”

I tapped my bottom lip with the handle of my paintbrush. “Hmmm. Read any good books lately?”

I could feel his smile without seeing it. If there was one thing Spencer loved more than saving lives and doing crossword puzzles in pen, it was reading. “I revisited some Ray Bradbury on the plane home,” he said.

“Mmm, tell me about it.”

He took a deep breath beneath me and began. “I re-read The Illustrated Man. It’s a compilation of short stories told through interactions between an omniscient narrator and a man covered in tattoos that each tell tales of events that have not happened yet. The tattoos are magic, and they come alive to tell the stories they depict. The stories are mostly science fiction, but have elements of pretty universal truths that Bradbury is famous for addressing.

For example, in one story explores the deep seeded longing of one man to take a trip to outer space. Something that, in this story, is attaintanable. He works his whole life to be able to fulfill this yearning, but he is torn between going or staying with his family, whom he also loves. It begs the question of the existence of duality of desire and duty.

Then, in another, there’s this incessant rain. And this group of men are searching for cover and sunshine, but it’s wearing them down and breaking them. These small raindrops, just water, becomes torture. It’s interesting how something as small as raindrops can break both canyons and men.”

I listen as he tells me about each story behind the man’s tattoos, about how they’re all different but important and lend themselves to portraying the then-futuristic perception world around us. Sometimes, his voice gets sad at the implications of the stories, but other times he seems to appreciate the sentiment behind them.

I dip my brushes and admire the way they drag across his soft skin, leaving a wake of vibrant pigments behind. I hmm and ahhh at appropriate times, partially paying attention but mostly glad that he’s able to enjoy himself and is able to think of something other than the darkness in his world.

We stayed in our respective positions for the better part of an hour- him laying on the bed with his head on his hands while I straddled the back of his thighs, stroking brushes across the lines of his back.

When I’m finally finished, I roll my neck and place my hands on the small of his back, taking a moment to take it in. The idea of creating a universe compelled me; there was so much beauty and so much unknown in the expanse of space. The concept seemed fitting for what I hoped to help him understand. I’d mixed a navy blue paint for a base, and created swirls of light with yellows, creams, and whites to create a brighter contrast and background for the more intricate featured parts. One section had books, a coffee cup, a molecular model I’d hoped was an actual chemical, and a small red apple.

The next was a canyon, modeled after one of the scenic drives we’d taken the last time we visited Vegas to see his mom at her new care facility. We parked at a lookout spot and watched the sun set- gorgeous oranges, yellows, and pinks painted the sky over the rock. It was at that moment I’d never been more jealous of Spencer’s perfect memory.

Another section, closer to the bottom curve of his spine was a silhouette outline of the Christmas card the team had sent out two years ago. Spencer had a copy hanging by a CalTech magnet on the fridge, another on his desk, and a folded and fading copy in his wallet.

He loved that photo – the way it captured their joyous spirits and ability to be carefree despite the things that initially brought them together.

I took a deep breath and playfully patted his bottom. “All done!”

He threw a boyish grin over his shoulder and handed me his phone.

I snapped a few pictures, holding the phone up by my chin to capture the expanse of his back, then a bit closer to the individual parts. I passed the phone back over his shoulder and brought my clasped hands up under my chin. “Okay, so, if you don’t like it, that’s okay you can wash-” I rushed, but stopped short when I felt his breath hitch from underneath me.

He was silent for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand.

I took a deep breath. “Spencer, you contain multitudes. You’re a loving son, an amazing friend, a brilliant profiler, a great cat-sitter, an instant mashed potato extraordinaire, and my favorite boyfriend.”

I dusted an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder before continuing, giving my words a moment to sink in. I needed him to hear me, and to know these truths. “You are so much more than the things you don’t love about yourself. You are more than this job, you are more than the obstacles you’ve had to overcome. They’re a part of who you are, yeah, but they’re not all that you are.”

I shook my head, though he couldn’t see it. The knowledge of the man beneath me not knowing he was deeply loved seemed so wrong.

“You are so incredibly loved, Spencer. The people in your life are so lucky to know you and to be loved by you. Each and every one of your friends is changed and is better for having known you, believe me.”

He was silent for a short while, pinching and zooming in on the screen to see the different parts of him illustrated in his skin. He cleared his throat a few times. Part of me was grateful I couldn’t see his face, and he couldn’t seem mine. Though, I didn’t need to see the way his mind was working to know he was trying to find a flaw in my logic.

The amount of love I had for the man beneath me threatened to spill over in the form of tears.

“Favorite boyfriend?” he asked finally, feigning insult.

I laughed. “So far, yeah.”

I knew that wasn’t the only thing he’d heard, but probably was the only thing he could bring himself to comment on.

I scrambled off of my perch unceremoniously, stretching for a moment before straightening up and offering my hand. He laid with his chin resting on his fists stacked, staring at me for a moment.

“What?” I asked with a small huff.

“Being loved by you is one of the greatest joys of my life.”

I felt my mouth pop open, a bit taken aback at such a bold admission. A sweet smile touched his lips while he watched me try to scoop my heart back into my chest. He climbed off the bed gingerly, careful not to rock the tray of paint and brushes with his long limbs.

His large hand wrapping around mine grounded me from cloud nine and I could feel the smile forming on my lips. I turned and started heading towards the bathroom.

“Come,” I said, pulling him along behind me.

When we arrived in the small room, I halted and spun him so the back of his thighs were resting against the porcelain countertop and I was flush against his front. My hands came to rest on the edges of the countertop, caging him between my arms. I looked up at him, squinting slightly.

“I’d like to take a picture, is that okay?”

I knew Spencer was wary of having his picture taken; most of our pictures together were candids I’d puppy eyed my way into him letting me keep.

He narrowed his eyes back at me. My lower lip made an appearance, coupled with a knitted brow and cautious look from under my lashes.

He laughed and shook his head. “Okay.”

Before he could change his mind, I grabbed my phone and rushed back to my place in front of him, pressing my front to his.

I snaked my arms around his torso so our chests were together while his back bearing my painting faced the mirror. My arms poking out from between his arm and torso space made him look like an alien, but placing one hand on his hip while the other held my phone gave the pose a more artistic feel.

I snapped a few pictures, messing with the lighting and exposure, playing with shadows from the vanity and positioning him every which way. Every once in a while, I’d pull my arms from him and show him a few shots I liked but they never felt like the one.

He smiled and nodded encouragingly, taking my direction to tilt this way or arch his shoulder that way. I started to feel for him, we’d been there for 15 minutes at least.

I pouted and let my head fall back dramatically. “I give up,” I whined.

He gave a small smile and leaned down to kiss me. I met his lips with a smile of my own before resting my head against his chest.

“Try one more time,” he encouraged.

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him again. I poked my head out so it was just visible behind his arm, resting my chin on his bicep as I focused my phone camera to capture the two of us and my work on his back.

“Smile,” I said before snapping a few shots. Spencer’s body shook with his laugh as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. My thumb grazed the shutter button, capturing the moment.

It was perfect.

His back was illuminated perfectly by the soft glow of the vanity mirror lighting, the muscles in his back tensed when he bent down, creating dips and curves that separated the focus points brilliantly. My hand wasn’t posed, just gently resting on his hip, a soft touch that lent itself perfectly to the lightness of the moment.

I pulled myself from around him and held the phone between us. His hand found the small of my back and he pulled me closer to him, sealing our lips together. Our lips were unhurried, enjoying the softness of the moment and the love between us. His free hand cupped my cheek as we broke apart. His eyes bore into mine, both pairs slightly glossy.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

I nodded and buried my head into his chest so he wouldn’t see the fresh tears springing in my eyes. His arms wrapped around me as he pressed more kisses to the top of my head.

——

Let’s talk about it!

[silentprincess17]

A Proposal Gone Awry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: Link has been touring the breadth and width of Hyrule to clear out the remaining monster camps, and soon enough, he reaches Zora’s Domain. Mipha asks him to wait before he heads back to the castle, which he was intending on doing... but some mischievous children may have other plans.

Thank you to @braidy-maidy, @zeldaelmo and @zeldadiarist for your help betaing!

Relationships: Link/Zelda Link/Mipha- Onesided Link & The Zora Children Mipha & Revali (Legend of Zelda)

Contains spoilers for AOC. This is my take on the Heart's Escort Mission- specifically what you get at the end of that.Basically- I turn my angst gun on another character whoopsie but I don't leave Mipha high and dry I promise!

Tags: Unrequited Love, Heartbreak, Healing, Emotional angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Link had just got back from the battlefield, and he’d left Mipha there, albeit reluctantly. She insisted she would be the one to check over the Zora troops, alone, “I’ll be able to heal them as I go along Link. Why don’t you go back to the Domain and rest whilst I finish up? You’re not wounded, are you?” He replied in the negative, or well, he’d shaken his head anyway. He’d remained with her still, but she’d sort of stammered for a while, something about final preparations, and it was okay for him to leave. Link wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t want him to stay, but he hadn’t heard her clearly through what seemed to be perpetual rain on Ploymus mountain, and Mipha had become particularly jumpy around him lately, so he opted to leave her be. He just assumed she meant preparations for the healing she was going to do- and maybe that was a private thing? Or maybe she wanted to ask him to train at some point and it was preparations for that? Not that there was much need for it anymore, with the Calamity destroyed and sealed away, but he missed his childhood friend and would like to help her if she wanted it. Just before he left, she’d clutched his arm, and had asked if he could wait until dinner for her because she wanted to tell him something. He saw no reason to decline, so he’d given her a slight nod and then moved to leave.

As he meandered back through the twisting pathways, he realised that it wasn’t that late, but for some inexplicable reason he felt tired. Sunset had just fallen over the Domain, and now the luminous stones started to glow and fluoresce. It truly was a beautiful place, although… he wasn’t a huge fan of the way the water flowing the walkways had started to creep through his metal boots. He sighed, it had been a spur of the moment decision to wear his Soldier’s Armour, he had put his Champion’s Tunic through the wash multiple times since the Calamity fight and it was still drying in his Guard’s Chamber. He felt strangely bare without it, and he certainly missed the increased perception he had whilst wearing it. And, well, for other, uh, sentimental reasons. No, not because the Princess had made it for him. No. Not at all. He was pulled from his thoughts when his foot squelched uncomfortably in his now soaked socks into the metal plate of his boot. The flow of water had never been a problem as a child because he could run barefoot everywhere and no one would care, but now as the Hero it wouldn’t be seen as proper. He would have to polish them later, to avoid rust forming. And change his socks.

He slowly exhaled, it had been a long week of fighting off the remaining hordes of monsters from Calamity Ganon’s revival, today being the day that he had decided to help clear out the remnants in Zora’s Domain. It was funny, because before he wouldn’t have seen a weeklong absence from the Castle as a bad thing, but now… He blushed slightly, before shaking his head. He still had to go clean up, and then eat dinner, because by the Goddesses he was starving, and then meet Mipha… And perhaps he’d teleport back to the Central Tower and then to the Castle. Just to see her again. He missed being by her side, and it left him restless to know he wasn’t protecting her. Somehow over the course of their journey together those feelings of friendship and wanting to protect her had slowly morphed into something else. Or perhaps, he reflected, his reasoning for wanting to do those things had changed. But he could start to smell the aroma of freshly made hasty meat skewers made using the abundance of fleet lotus seeds around the Domain and Link’s stomach audibly grumbled. Ah, food was close, so he hurried the last few steps to reach the Dining Hall.

Just as he was about to go inside, four small bodies ploughed into him, and he let out a startled gasp. They tugged at his boots, and he only belatedly realised it was the members of The Big Bad Bazz Brigade. Bazz was at the forefront with the sword Link had gifted him when they were children proudly strapped to his back. The sword was barely off the ground, though, with the tip jutting into the passageway with every jump he made.

“LINK!” Bazz shouted, a huge smile plastered across his face.

“Hey Link!” Rivan jostled with Bazz and they flailed their arms at each other, with both of them gripping one of his legs. Link looked down and wasn’t sure what to do exactly. Did he try to separate them? Or peel them off him? He couldn’t help but smile at their antics though.

“You’re coming down to our Domain an awful lot recently, aren’t you?” Gaddison, The Heroine, had both hands on her hips but then moved to pull the two squabbling friends off his poor boots. He hadn’t realised how heavy Zoran children were.

Behind them shyly stood Sidon, he was smaller than all of them, and he gripped his Lightscale Trident with shaking hands.

Link nodded at Gaddison, pointed back towards the mountain where the monsters had been. She nodded sagely, understanding what he meant. Link moved to pick up Sidon, he hadn’t been allowed to join Bazz’s group because he was too young, but he still followed them everywhere. Actually, he tried so hard to prove his worth to be allowed in, he’d even climbed Ploymus mountain to face the Lynel there in an effort to prove his courage. Link found him to be adorable, Sidon reminded him of what he was like at that age, keen to please and prove he was capable, but too reckless for his own good. Sidon smiled his trademark smile and wrapped both arms around Link’s neck. Link smiled; aw he was so cute.

“Hey Link! When will you go swimming up the waterfall with us? You’re older now right, do you have your scales yet?” Rivan asked.

He shook his head. He didn’t have scales, and he wouldn’t ever get them because he wasn’t Zoran.

“HE’S A HYLIAN you ninny! He’s not a Zora! He won’t ever get scales like we will!” Ah Gaddison, ever the voice of reason in the group of rowdy boys. She mothered them all, he could remember that from when he used to play at the Domain, and she sprouted logic that the Zora-equivalent of a ten-year-old Hylian probably shouldn’t have, but who was he to judge.

Rivan looked traumatised. “So, we can never swim up the waterfall with Link then?”

“NO.” She paused, “Well, unless someone gives him armour with their scale on it.”

Bazz shoved his shoulder into hers, “Why don’t you do it then?”

She shoved him back, doubly hard, so much so that he ended up slipping in the water and skidding onto his bum. Link suppressed a bout of laughter at his enraged face. “Do I look like I have a White Scale yet Bazz? I can’t give him one if I don’t have one myself!” She bent down and whacked his arm again. “AND ANYWAY, did you not listen to the history lessons we’ve had- you only give your scale to the person you want to marry, basically as an engagement present.” She fluffed her fins around, “And I guess by association love.” She shuddered, “What a disgusting concept. Imagine loving a boy. How desperate do you have to be?”

Link suddenly felt ridiculously embarrassed. He tried going to the shop on the way here, but they didn’t sell the actual chest plate part of the Zora armour and had looked at him strangely when he’d showed them the Greaves and Helm he already had and pointed at his chest. Then again, maybe he should have actually voiced it. He found it bizarre, considering all the other races seemed fine with selling their complete armour sets. He chalked it off as just a Zora thing. But now he knew better. Farore, he had been such an idiot. How had he apparently missed this piece of information? He hadn’t known the Zora Armour was only given as an engagement gift! And to someone you loved no less. No wonder the staff in the shop had looked at him as if he had grown an extra head!

Bazz looked sheepish, scratching the back of his head. “Well, that was the girl side of things, Heroine.”

Rivan looked confused, “Then you don’t love Link?”

Gaddison blushed bright red, “NOT IN THAT WAY! And I’m only 52! That’s not appropriate at all!” She punched them both, “Do you not remember anything about our plan?”

Bazz scratched his chin. “We want to go swimming up the waterfall.”

Gaddison took a deep breath. “Well done, Bazz, son of Seggin. That’s the whole point of this venture, none of the adults will let us go on the waterfall by ourselves because we aren’t that strong.” She huffed and sat down, her legs crossed and both hands holding her face up in what Link recognised as classic-moody-child-face, “We just need some supervision is all. That is what Link would have been ideal for, but he doesn’t have the armour, it was a longshot really.”

Rivan piped up. “WAIT I remember now! Wasn’t this to do with Kodah?”

Up until that point, Link had been watching the three of them squabbling with amusement mostly. He’d been surprised with the revelation of the Zora Armour but how was he supposed to know the intricacies of Zora… courting (?) rituals. It struck him as weird that they hadn’t changed a single bit since when he was a child and when he played with them. Although, it made sense, that they had remained children whilst he had matured, because Hylians aged much faster compared to the Zora. As soon as Kodah was brought up though, he winced. He could still hear her screeching LINNY when he had walked into the Domain with the Princess who had come to recruit Mipha as a champion. It had been mortifying.

Gaddison sighed. “Yes, she said she was making the armour for a Hylian remember! And then that gossip that my mother heard that she was in fact going to propose to the Hero? In case you’ve been living under a rock- that Hero is sitting right there!” She pointed at him, and Link went red-faced, his eyebrows raised high. Oh, thank the Goddesses Kodah hadn’t done anything. He had no idea what he’d even say. How had she ever thought he’d agree anyway- it wasn’t like he’d talked to her properly since when he was four! But then, time passed differently for the Zora… “I thought she would have given it to him by now.” She huffed, “We should have realised that flaw in our plan.”

Bazz was uncharacteristically silent as the three of them sulked over not being able to go up the waterfall. Link felt bemused that all of their extensive planning was over this armour that apparently a lover, in this case Kodah, was meant to give to their loved one (him haha what a joke) so that he could wear said engagement gift and take them to the waterfall. He shook his head, children’s priorities and means to achieve those were always… entertaining to listen to. Bazz suddenly perked up, “Baby Prince!” Sidon looked up from where he had been resting his head on Link’s shoulder. “Didn’t you go blabbing around the other day to the King that Princess Mipha was making someone armour?”

Rivan enthusiastically nodded, “YEAH- you said that King Dorephan was worried about it, so he commi-ssioned someone to get the materials, and he gave them the Zora Greaves!”

Link swallowed; he had a small inclination of where things were going but he wasn’t sure. He pulled out the Greaves anyway and after a round of ohs and ahs, a hushed silence fell over the group, everyone watching Sidon as the small red spots on his cheeks flared a darker red. He sucked in a small breath and slowly nodded.

Bazz nodded, and immediately stood up. “This is a mission for the The Big Bad Bazz Brigade. We hereby announce that we will go searching for this Armour- this is your pre-pre-liminary mission, Rookie Comrade Sidon. We cannot go find Kodah’s armour because we have no clue where it is so that would waste valuable time, but you know where Mipha’s is don’t you?”

Sidon nodded, much more enthusiastically this time. Link held his hands up, trying to get them to stop.

Gaddison stood up then, “Wait, what if she made it for a Zora?”

Bazz shook his head, “We’ll make do. You want to go swimming tonight, don’t you Heroine?”

Link was vehemently shaking his head, and opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. What were they doing? What was he agreeing to?! No, he had to say something, he might not know much about courting rituals, but he didn’t want to wear something meant as a present for an engagement!

“Hey!” They all looked at him, “Is this… okay?”

“We need to ask Comrade Gaddison for that information because we, ahem, didn’t, uh, study the particulars.”

Gaddison paused. “Well, I don’t really know. Do you just propose once in your life and that’s it? I mean technically the scales grow back right? It’s not like you have a gaping hole in your chest. And really, everyone seems to be making one at the minute, so it probably doesn’t hold all that fancy meaning anymore. And Lord Jabu Jabu knows we have so many traditions that no one other than the oldies bother with.”

Rivan piped up, “Princess Mipha is nice too, so she won’t mind right?”

Gaddison nodded, “True, and theoretically, we’re just borrowing it. It’s not like Link here will take it forever or something. It’s just so we can practise going up the waterfall a few times on our own, and then we’ll give it back. She probably won’t even know we’ve taken it!” She shook her head, “I surmise no issues Comrade Bazz. We may proceed.”

“Comrade Rivan?”

“Sounds good! It means we can swim with Link, right?”

Bazz sighed, “Yes it does. Good so, last person, Comrade Link?”

Link blinked. This whole situation had gone from zero to one hundred so fast. He wasn’t even sure what he was consenting to, and he was really confused. Did this armour really matter to the Zora? Apparently, it did to the shop keepers, but maybe he’d just confused them? That was highly likely considering he hadn’t even said anything to begin with. And Kodah had made him one and he’d last seen her when he was four- she couldn’t genuinely believe he would agree to marry her right? But even ignoring that, it made the whole thing seem a bit like a joke- surely the Armour doesn’t mean that much if you’d make it for someone who you haven’t talked to in years? Plus, the way Gaddison was talking, and she was really the only source of actual knowledge on the topic, made it seem like it was something all the Zora did in their spare time. But stealing Mipha’s potentially specific armour for her future husband? That felt really wrong. And he knew Mipha was a very serious person, not at all like Kodah, so he had a feeling this meant more to her. Plus, why exactly was he agreeing - because the kids wanted to go surfing vertically? That just felt ridiculous. He shook his head. No. He wasn’t going to ruin Mipha’s gift for her, um, future husband. It’s not what friends would do.

Bazz’s eyes widened, “Please Link. You don’t… play with us anymore. I know you’re all grown up, and you have like responsi-si-”

“Responsibilities you fool.”

“What she said!” and then Bazz opened up his pouch, “AND we got you a gift! Your favourite from the Domain, Hearty Salmon Meuniere!”

Link sighed, about to decline, but his stomach rumbled again and Bazz shoved the plate into his hand. He always was too susceptible to food. And, they made a valid point. He hadn’t spent much time with them lately and they seemed desperate to go up a waterfall. Maybe this was a Zora rite of passage- he knew when he was younger, he’d been desperate to duel with soldiers, but everyone had laughed at him because he was so young. Perhaps this was the same for them. And who was he kidding- he just couldn’t say no. Especially to food children. And he couldn’t deny a small part of him was intrigued as to what the Zora Armour looked like after all. It was the last one he had yet to collect, having received the Greaves from who he now knew was the king, and the Helm from when Mipha had been recruited. So, even though he felt like it was probably not the right thing to do, he agreed, the reckless and hungry side won out. “One ride up the waterfall. And then we return the Armour.”

A series of exclamations and happy cries of “YES! LET’S GO!” rang out through the Domain.

Next (Part 2)

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii​‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command.  I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!” 

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

��Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--” 

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production.  We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.

[fallen-gravity]

Safety in Numbers

A surprise gift fic for @artsymeeshee, because the art she recently posted of the Stan Twins cuddling warmed my heart and apparently inspired me to write..uh...almost five thousands words.

Don’t you dare tag this as a ship.

Summary:  Every great thing that ever happens to you is usually followed by something much, much worse.

You save the world from the apocalypse, you're convinced that you've lost everything and everyone you've ever loved.

You gain your memories back, you have nightmares so vivid that they fuck with your sense of fantasy versus reality.

It's a lose-lose, if you ask Stan.

AO3

Stan awakens to an alarm clock he doesn’t remember setting. Groaning, he sits up, eyes not quite open yet, and his back makes an ugly popping sound he knows he’s going to feel as soon as his body is fully awake. He blinks his eyes open slowly, and takes a few moments to re-familiarize himself with his twin brother’s old study room. He turns, to check the time and stop that infernal beeping sound, but his neck is so stiff that it makes him want to blow chunks. That’s what he gets for sleeping on a couch, he supposes, but he’s certainly slept on worse, and even if Ford did have a bed somewhere in the mess of a shack he chose to call home, Stan certainly didn’t deserve it, because people who are probably responsible for the death of their family don’t deserve nice things.

Grunting, he swings his legs off the couch, and stands so he doesn’t have to bend his neck in any more weird directions just to turn the alarm off. Its obnoxiously bright red letters blink 5:31am, and Stan scrubs a hand down his face as he punches the clock’s OFF button with the other. 

That’s right. The only reason he set the damn alarm in the first place is because a stubborn customer who couldn’t speak a lick of English refused to leave the gift shop until she found the perfect gift for her little kiddo back home despite the Shack having closed nearly half an hour prior. It’s the only time in his life he’s ever been grateful for the year he was trapped in Colombia, because he’s sure if he wasn’t able to heckle with her in Spanish her into leaving with one of everything, he has a feeling she’d still be wandering back and forth across the shop. Stan laughs to himself at the thought, and makes a mental note to make that sort of thing an attraction someday if he ever gets a customer as stubborn as she is again.

But no, that’s not what matters right now. He bends over to pick up a hairbrush that’d been carelessly tossed to the floor the night prior and runs it through his soft brown hair that he promises he’s going to get cut as soon as he has the time and money, and as soon as his hair manageable enough to brush through it without snagging on any tough knots, he carelessly tosses the brush over his shoulder and heads out of the room, navigating himself around the place with a flashlight. He’s aware that it’d make things much easier to just turn the lights on, but keeping the gift shop lights on all weekend is already burning a hole in his wallet, and he’s not sure he could afford the electricity bill if he left the lights in the study room on by mistake for even ten extra minutes.

When he reaches the staircase leading to the basement, he flicks the flashlight off and sets it down on the counter by the cash register. It’s much easier to navigate down the winding steps with both of his hands free in case he falls and needs to catch himself, and the faint blue hum of the portal is enough of a light source to show him the way to the basement anyway. He sits down at the desk, adjusts the framed photo of himself and Ford at boxing practice in high school, and pulls Journal 1 out from the hidden shelf in front of the monitor. He’d spent all of last week desperately looking for 2 and 3, but the harsh winter snowfall had cut his search short and he didn’t want to waste any more time when he could just try to get the damned thing working without them.

“C’mon, Poindexter, y’gotta give me something to work with,” he mumbles, opening the desk drawer and pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. “I spent weeks memorizing all of your fancy shmancy ciphers. That’s more than I ever studied in high school. You can’t ramble on for two whole pages about how to crack them and then switch to this…” he squints at the squiggles scattered across the portal’s blueprints. “...Cooky alien language, or whatever. This is real life we’re talkin’ here. This is your life we’re talkin’ here. It’d be a lot easier if you didn’t write this thing in Klingon, or whatever” 

Stan knows, at the back of his mind, that talking to the journal like it’s Ford himself isn’t going to get him anywhere, but in a weird kind of way, it makes him feel less alone. Helps a guy out from feeling too lonely, y’know? 

He chuckles to himself at his own joke, taking comfort in the fact that if Ford were here he’d probably be rambling off about how Klingon is one of thousands of different intergalactic languages and how he obviously wrote it in Hqjolvk, thank you very much, and Stan can’t help but roll his eyes fondly as he flips through his notepad. He’s tried everything, he’s tried translating them to whichever letter in the English alphabet they just happen to look closest to, he’s tried throwing sentences in gibberish into three different ciphers at once to see if he could get anything even relatively close to whatever it is, and even when he “bought” a book at the store on ancient hieroglyphics and ancient symbolism the closest thing he got was just a bunch of dumb numbers.  And even then, translating all of those dumb numbers back to English from a1z26 just hit him against another dumb wall. 

Frustrated, he throws the pad of paper against the desk and kicks off from its edge, sending his swivel chair flying backwards across the room. When the chair finally stops rolling, his gaze fixes on the portal through the window in front of the desk he’d just been sitting at, and it’s really only now that he’s looking at it from this distance, from this angle, that he notices….the same weird squiggles from the journal carved all over the circular ring in the center of the portal. 

But...if the weird squiggles in the journal came from the portal, and translating those numbers from the Egyptian book through a1z26 just gave him gibberish...could...could it be that easy? Could it be-?

“Coordinates!” Stan yells, jumping to his feet, and tears build in his eyes at the epiphany. “Sweet Moses, they’re coordinates! How could it’ve been so obvious?” he cries, and nearly trips over himself in excitement as he scrambles back over to the monitor,  and his hands are shaking as he flips through his notepad. Once he finds the page he’s looking for, he forces his hands steady as he enters the number into the keypad. 

The tiny, logical voice in the very back of his mind is screaming at him that it’s never going to work, he only has a third of what he needs, he really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but the slamming of his heart against his chest drowns that sound out as he frantically enters and re-enters the numbers when he’s sure he accidentally entered the wrong ones (damn his chubby fingers), and when he’s finally, finally certain he’s gotten them all entered correctly, he presses the dark red SEND button, takes a few steps backwards, and waits. 

For what couldn’t be longer than two minutes but feels like six hours, there’s nothing. Stan’s about to sigh, call it a good stopping point for the day and kick himself for getting his hopes up too high, but then a flash of blue lightning sparks from the portal and strikes the ground.

“HA!” Stan exclaims, pumping his fists in the air. “I knew it! I knew it! Nothing can stop Stan Pines!” 

He sprints into the portal room, pausing only briefly to grab the toolbox on his way in. Two more bolts of lightning strike against the ground with a loud pop as he enters, and the grin spread across Stan’s face rivals them in brightness. Kneeling down in front of the lever, Stan opens his toolbox and pulls out his lucky red screwdriver that’s gotten him out of his fair share of car trunks, and goes to work on fixing up loose bolts and that awful crunching sound the lever kept making the last time he tried turning it on. 

Three bolts emerge from the portal, and Stan is too ecstatic to notice their uncomfortably close proximity to his head. He stands, once he’s absolutely certain he’s got the lever all fixed, and puts everything he has into shoving the lever from its off position to the on position. 

He can hear the gears turning in the machine, and his heart is pounding so hard against his chest it makes his ears ring. He’s tearing up again, but he doesn’t care, just as long as he gets to punch Ford in the shoulder and tell him off to never scare him like that again when he emerges in the next couple of minutes. The circular ring in the center of the portal begins to spin, slowly, and those weird symbols carved along it start to glow blue. 

Stan nearly drops to his knees, but no, he can’t let Ford see him at rock bottom, and maybe that’s a little selfish, considering all of the places Ford’s probably been the past two years, but the last thing he needs Ford to see is how much he’s been killing himself working to get him back. The ring spins faster, and faster, and where there was once a hole in the center of the portal that leads only to the back wall of the room, there’s now a blindingly bright flash of blue light, and Stan is knocked to the ground by the kickback. 

He goes to stand again, but the sound of shattering glass turns his attention elsewhere. He looks behind him, and the lightbulbs in the other room are exploding like it’s nobody’s business. He’s lucky his hearing was heightened from the ten years on the street, because he’s just quick enough to hear the cracking of the bulb right above his head that he’s able to dodge out of the way of the shattered glass as it rains down towards him. He jumps to his feet, brushing his clothes off, but he’s horrified to see that the portal’s ring is beginning to slow to a stop with no twin brother in sight.

“No!” he cries, and sprints back into the other room to reenter the coordinates into the monitor. But it’s just his luck, because the monitor’s glass is shattered to pieces as well, and there’s a thin line of black smoke rising from it. “No, no no no! I was so close!” he shouts, and sprints back into the portal room. He switches the lever from on to off and back to on again, but nothing changes. 

When the ring comes to a complete stop, the bright blue light fades away, an ugly kind of rage boils in the pit of Stan’s stomach. “This is all your fault, you dumb machine!” he yells, and launches at the portal like it was a thug trying to rob him of his wallet, and starts punching it like there’s no tomorrow, like if he gave it enough left hooks it’ll obey him and spit Stanford right out to his side. 

He’s about to go in for another punch when he hears the sound of the machine’s gears turning again. He grins, rubbing his hands together, and steps backwards to watch the process in its completion. Four bolts spark from the portal this time, but rather than strike the ground, they lunge for him, and Stan screams in agony as they jolt through his whole body. He takes it as a sign that he’s probably better off watching the process from the desk in the other room, but when he tries to turn heel and run, five bolts of lightning reach out and snake around his leg before he can take another step further, and he collapses to the ground. Gritting his teeth to avoid letting out a choked cry of pain, Stan tries to inch himself towards the lever for support to stand up, but it’s as if the damned lightning  has the power to read his thoughts, because it shocks the lever with such a thick bolt of lightning that it fries the thing black.

The charge from the lightning gives the lever just the right amount of static charge it needs to reactivate properly, and Stan doesn’t notice the hum of the portal’s gears getting louder and louder until he finds himself floating off the ground. “W-whoa, hey! Hey! Hold on a minute!” Stan scrambles around at nothing in particular, hoping his feet or arms will snag on something and prevent him from getting pulled in. “Let’s talk this over! We can work together!” He must be losing his damn mind if he thinks bargaining with the portal like it’s sentient is going to do anything, but it’s the only option he’s got left. “I just want my brother back! You want to stay on, yeah? You don’t like getting turned on and off at random, right? I’ll-I’ll keep you on! As long as it takes for my brother to find his way home, I’ll keep you turned on! I promise!”

The machine, of course, does not respond, and the higher Stan gets off the ground the blurrier his vision gets. Damn fear of heights. He flaps his arms around as if he could fly, but nothing seems to work. He starts kicking, as well, to see if swimming towards the ground could work any better, but he still doesn’t budge. 

But that does give him the idea of kicking off of the portal itself, since it’s the only solid thing left, save for the ceiling, and Stan curls himself up into a ball to try and get himself to flip over. It works, thankfully, but when he turns his glance back towards the portal his heart drops to his stomach. Curling himself up had helped his body change directions, yes, but it also changed his course entirely. Rather than being sucked towards the edge of the portal’s entrance, like he’d been when he was hovering above the lever, he’s now heading right for the center of the portal with nowhere to kick off of. 

“N-No! No!” He shouts frantically, kicking his leg away from the cold blue substance the portal emitted. When he spares another glance backwards, his feet are already sucked inside, and the rest of him is quickly following. “No! Somebody help! Somebody!” he shouts, his own words painfully echoing those of Ford’s when he’d been in the same situation.

Ford,

If the portal manages to stay active after he gets sucked in, Ford’s gonna be able to find his way home, but he’ll be all alone, left to wonder what could’ve happened to him. Vaguely, Stan remembers Ford had been saying something about shutting it down for good, and his panicked flailing at the thought that he may be the one never coming again only makes his descent into the portal quicken. “Stanford!” he shouts, in the odds that his brother can hear his cries from the other side of the portal. “Stanford, do something! Stanford!” 

The blue substance within the portal is thick and flavorless as his head is sucked in. He closes his mouth, because he doesn’t want to risk suffocating on whatever the hell this stuff is made of, and closes his eyes for impact for the same horrors that swallowed up his brother just two years prior, and…

…

…

…

…

…

When he forces his eyes open again, he’s lying on a bed. An actual, decently sized bed with fluffy blankets and at least three pillows supporting his head and neck. He’s not sure he’s slept on one of those in….what, thirteen years, give or take, if he’s not including the bug-infested hotels? 

All of his burns from the lightning strikes have seemingly vanished into thin air, along with that gnawing hunger that never seemed to leave his stomach even when he had the time to eat more than a single meal a day, and though the air feels cool, it doesn’t feel humid and stuffy like Ford’s old lab had felt moments ago. 

The rest of his aches are gone, too, he realizes as he sits up, replaced now by a dull pain in his hips and knees that he supposes he could credit to getting sucked into a portal and falling thirty feet to the ground to...uh, wherever he is now. 

Is this where Ford’s been stuck all this time? It’s no wonder he never tried to find his way back on his own, because all things considered, this place is actually pretty comfortable. Maybe he wound up on a friendly alien planet, and some locals rushed him to the hospital to get him fixed up. But there’s no calamity outside his door like there usually is in most hospitals back on Earth, and there’s no weird tubes attached to either of his arms and not a sight of ace bandages anywhere on his body. And...is he…swaying back and forth? 

Stan glances down at his hands, and the rest of his body still wrapped in a thick comforter. No, it’s not him, he realizes quickly, it’s the room that’s swaying back and forth. If he squints hard enough, he can make out the foot of his bed gently rocking back and forth. Scratching at his head, he goes to stand up and investigate his surroundings, until he notices a round window next to where he’d just been laying his head, just outside of his current line of sight. He lies back down, and his breath nearly catches in his throat at the sight. 

It’s the biggest cluster of stars he’s ever seen his entire life, and if he looks close enough, he can see streaks of what he can only assume must be the galaxy itself. It certainly looks like the Earth’s skies, and when he looks again he notices the stars are reflecting off of… some kind of body of water? 

Ah, so he’s on a boat. That explains the swaying. There’s a twinge of warm nostalgia in chest at the realization, of the days two scrappy little boys from New Jersey would spend their afternoons working on a sailboat of their own, musing dreamily about the day they’d finally sail away from the dumb town. 

But...no. That couldn’t possibly be right. He got kicked out at seventeen, and Ford is god-knows-where in the universe. This must be some sort of sick joke, or an optical illusion that plays on his greatest dreams, or something. He turns away from the window, covering that half of his face with the blanket, and fully intends to fall asleep so he can bug the boat’s captain in the morning about where the hell he is and how the hell he wound up here in the first place. Just as he’s about to close his eyes, though, he notices a bulky, bright pink book sitting at his bedside table next to the lamp.

Well, he’s got nothing to lose, right? Maybe this thing’ll have some answers. He flicks the lamp on and sits up. The book is called MABEL’S SCRAPBOOK, and the title written in glitter pen in a child’s handwriting. 

He snorts in laughter. Maybe the book belongs to the captain’s daughter, and she left it in here by mistake. Still, it could help to learn more about the family keeping him captive, and it’s not like she’ll know he ever read it, right? He chuckles to himself at the thought, but as soon as he grabs for the book to place it on his lap, the feel and smell of the dried glue and paint on the cover makes him feel dizzy, and his head’s suddenly swirling with so many thoughts that he feels like he’s drowning.

Grunkle Stan, it’s me! It’s me Grunkle Stan!

There has to be something we can do! I know my grunkle’s in there!

This is our first day in Gravity Falls, and this is when you let me take the grappling hook from the gift shop! Dipper thought I’d never use it, but he couldn’t be more wrong. Zing!

Over and over, all at once, the voice of two….wonderful, incredible rascal little nuisance kids keep yelling at him in his head, and he slams the book back down against his nightstand. 

Damn memory relapses. Ford warned him they could happen, since McGucket had experienced a few of them himself before Stan and Ford left Gravity Falls, but Ford never said anything about the nightmares. Yeah, yeah, he could see it as a good thing, extra proof that his mind’s intact and they don’t need to worry that it’ll ever be gone for good, but nothing sucks more than nightmares that are so based in reality that they fuck with your sense of what’s real and what isn’t. 

Stan rubs his eyes, and stands up. He figures it’d be a good idea to step out on deck and get some fresh air. He has no idea what time it is, but maybe if he goes and stares at the stars long enough he’ll eventually feel tired enough to crawl back into bed. He flicks his lamp light back off, and he’s maybe three steps out of his bedroom door before he notices that the light in Ford’s bedroom next to his is still on. 

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. He wants to be mad at Ford for staying up this late, and any other night he would tell him off and guilt him into sleeping by lying about how his light and excessive scribbling is what woke him up, but tonight he’s actually relieved by his brother’s dangerous sleeping habits, because talking out loud about his relapses and distinguishing real memories from fake ones always seems to widen the gap between his next relapse, and it certainly doesn’t help that tonight’s nightmare was about Ford’s disappearance. He creaks the door open slowly, to avoid activating Ford’s flight-or-magnet-gun-in-your-face response, and his mouth closes just as quickly as he’d opened it to speak. Ford’s desk lamp is on, yes, but his nerdy brother is not, in fact, hunched over with a thousand stacks of paper covering his face like he usually is this time of night.

Oh no. The lamp, it seems, was left on by mistake, because Ford’s curled up in his bed, fast asleep with his face half-buried in the pillow and his glasses tucked away in the drawer of his nightstand that he must’ve forgotten to close.  Rolling his eyes, Stan sneaks into the room as quietly as he can and flicks the light off so he doesn’t have to replace the lightbulb when it subsequently dies out in the morning. 

He turns heel, and he’s set on going back to his original plan of staring up at the sky until he feels tired again, but as he turns to close Ford’s door he gets another close look at his brother’s sleeping form and his chest warms with nostalgia at the sight as another memory, one from his childhood, resurfaces itself tonight. 

When they were kids, Pa was...never the comforting kind of parent. And yeah, while that was pretty obvious in that it was always Ma who helped patch up their skinned knees and splinters from the boardwalk and the occasional bee sting, there were times he’d be...more subtle about it, if that’s even the right word to describe him. If either of them came poking their heads in their parents’ bedroom after a nightmare, asking if they could crawl in bed and sleep with them for the night, Pa would always brush them off and send them back to their own room, giving them some excuse about the shop opening early tomorrow and how he can’t afford to lose any sleep in case someone tries to come in and rob them.

From a young age, Stan and his brother learned that it’d be easier just to stop asking Pa at all, and instead they’d resort to climbing into each other’s bed instead. They shared a bunk bed up until they were about fourteen, and they had this unspoken system going where if the other poked them awake or tried to crawl under their blanket in the middle of the night, they’d have to comply and let them in without asking why because it usually meant they were having bad dreams. Ford learned very early on never to hesitate for Stan, because he knew that if Stan was willing to climb to the top bunk despite his fear of heights that his nightmares must’ve been bad. 

Stan pauses, and wonders if Ford still remembers those times as well as he does. He hesitates, his grip still tight around the doorknob, until he recalls that it had been Ford who had asked him to accompany him to the arctic, and Ford who kept their childhood photo tucked away in the pocket of his trench coat.  

Well, here goes nothing.

Just as quietly as he’d been before, he tiptoes over to Ford’s bedside, and he’s thankful to find that there was still enough room for him to crawl under the covers without squishing Ford uncomfortably against the wall. Slowly, as not to jostle the blankets too much to wake his brother, he flips a corner of the blanket up, crawls underneath, and as soon as his head hits the extra pillow he’s out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Ford had to complain about anything from his thirty year trip around the multiverse, besides, well...all of it, he’d have to credit the worst of it to his heightened hearing. 

Ages ago, when it’d just been two weeks since he was sucked into the portal, he taught himself to sleep with his eyes open, and he taught his ears to pick up on the tiniest of movements, even the wind blowing the leaves off a tree branch. He couldn’t afford capture, and if that meant he had to sacrifice sleep to assure it wouldn’t happen, then so be it.

He’d lost the habit of sleeping with his eyes open after all the time he spent with Jheselbraum, thank god, but he could never quite get over the habit of listening. Every time something creaked in the Shack, every time Stan or one of the kids awoke in the middle of the night in search of the bathroom, it’d wake him up in a jolt, and it’d always take him longer than necessary to fall back asleep.

The nights on the Stan O’ War II are usually the quietest and most peaceful nights Ford’s ever experienced since his childhood. Though he and Stan always spend their days tracking and hunting monsters, they’re always able to find quiet little seaport towns to dock their boat when they need a place to rest for the night where nobody makes a peep until sunrise. 

That is...until tonight. He’d been awake just a few minutes prior, mapping out the coordinates for the next monster they needed to track down and how long it would take for them to find it, but he finally got to a point where he had been so tired that his handwriting was starting to give up on him and he decided it was probably for the best that he just go to sleep.  Standing to stretch, he places his glasses in the drawer of his nightstand and didn’t bother with the lamp light because he could just replace the bulb in the morning if need be, and practically collapsed face first onto his bed and fell asleep. 

He heard mumbling coming from the thin wall to his brother’s room, and since their departure from Gravity Falls he’s become so used to Stan’s constant presence that it no longer bolts him awake. In a way it’s almost comforting, knowing he’s never alone on the vast sea. He shifts, when he hears his brother’s slippers lightly slapping against the deck, but dismisses that just as quickly.  

He can feel himself dozing back off to real sleep when he hears his own lamp click off and his bedroom door closing. Ah, Stan was probably coming in to check on him but left when he saw that he was already asleep. That’s fine; he did that a lot the week before they left for their trip. He’s used to it. 

What he’s not used to is the blanket getting ripped from his shoulders, and the bed making a dull creaking sound of...something  sitting on it. Baffled, he pops his eye open, ready to reach for his weapon in case some sea creature managed to slip on board and into his bed, but his heart rate eases when he makes out the familiar shape of his brother fast asleep in the other half of his bed.

The sight of it makes Ford want to laugh. 

He can’t believe Stan remembers. 

Closing his eyes, Ford shifts his position ever so slightly, like it’s a maneuver he’s been practicing for ages, and scooches himself closer to Stan without shaking the bed. He snakes an arm around Stanley’s shoulder, whose whole body seems to release itself of tension at the gesture. Unconsciously, Stan shifts himself closer to Ford as well, and snakes his own arm around Ford’s chest, like he, too, had been practicing the maneuver since they were separated all those years ago.

[waterbearwaltz]

Seed

For @flashfictionfridayofficial | Prompt: Dipped in Silver | Word count: 936

Her dream is about a garden in a glass jar. It’s a dream she’s had again and again. Understandable, for a woman who’s never seen a green thing in her life. But this time the jar sinks slowly into the sand. No, not sand. Bright yellow, with a sharp, chemical scent. 

The autopilot’s alarm buzzes Sai awake, and she shuts it off fast so it doesn’t wake Ru. It’s her turn to keep watch. Dawn has just begun to sink red tendrils into the sky as she checks their pitch and yaw, altitude and fuel. They’ve been flying for about a day. She fully expected to be shot down by now, and yet. For the first time, something rises in her. Not hope, not yet, but something. The acknowledgement that maybe, maybe this could work.

They’re getting close when she finally nudges Ru awake. He’s fully alert at the barest touch of the shoulder. She recognizes this reaction, and it sets her mouth in a grim line. How many times has her survival depended on that same ability to become instantly and completely awake?

“We’re close. Maybe an hour out.” He nods and reaches for water. Another reflex. They have humidity regulation on this plane. It’s why they stole it. But the impulse to reach for water if it’s available is not just about logic. 

He wipes his mouth. “No trouble?” As though he wouldn’t have woken if they’d been shot out of the sky.

She smiles, but there is no humor in it. “Nothing. Guess they didn’t realize what we took until it was too late to catch us.” This is what she wants to believe. What she actually believes is that the bomb they set off was stronger than they’d guessed, and there is no one left to raise the alarm. At least until the authorities finish sorting through the rubble. But saying that would spoil the good mood.

The hollow way Ru laughs, he’s probably thinking the same thing. She touches his face, briefly. His stubble pricks her fingers.

“Take the pit? I want to check the cargo.”

The cargo. The other reason they picked this behemoth. The only boat with stealth tech and a cargo hold big enough for this much silver. She slips into the cavernous belly of the plane and checks barrels for leaks, runs diagnostics on the release mech, sets up the machines that will open barrel after barrel into the sky.

‘Agl’ is printed in bright red letters on the side of every container. Silver iodide. She’s seen it once, the loose powder. Bright yellow, not at all what she’d imagined. A teaspoon more valuable than gold, oil, even water. The closest thing to ice outside of a lab. And they took all of it.

On her way back up, Sai vomits on the walkway overlooking the hull. The force of it brings her to her knees, makes her nose run and her eyes water. She took too long, breathed too many fumes. It doesn’t matter, she only needs a few more hours. It’s not like they were ever getting off this plane anyway. 

Kneeling there, staring down at her own sick, she thinks, inexplicably, about reclamation tech. She learned how to press water out of a corpse when she was 6. Could repair the machines that did it by 8. The Waste takes what it takes, and so must you. The lives of everyone on that base, and god knows how many below them. 

She stands, cleans up the mess, rinses her mouth with a sip from her satchel, and rejoins Ru in the cockpit. 

“Everything’s ready,” she says. Ru eyes her strangely, and she realizes she probably looks like she’s been crying. She is embarrassed that he thinks this, and then decides not to be. She wishes she was a person who would cry right now. He nods at her and it is a question. She nods back. 

“We’re here,” he says, eyes back on the desert. ‘Here’ looks the same as every other stretch of nothing they’ve passed over. But this is the place, the computers say, where a special type of wind wraps the earth. And this wind can carry their silver everywhere. 

“This used to be an ocean,” Ru says very quietly. Sai frowns at the land below them. It just looks like more sand to her. 

“How can you tell?”

“I learned about it at the academy. It used to stretch all the way to the colonies, and east as far as Greater Europa.” His voice catches like he might cry. Maybe he thinks he has permission now. She never knows what to say when he gets like this. All glassy-eyed and romantic over trivia from a world that was gone before their grandparents were born. 

“No wonder you were a terrible soldier.” It’s the only thing she can think of that isn’t unkind, so that's what she says. He laughs, and this time maybe it’s genuine. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, flipping back the safety casing over the release button. This plane was built to drop bombs. Maybe had, in the past. 

The rains, once they start, won’t be the predictable, contained showers wealthier cities pay so handsomely for. This will be cataclysmic. Will remake the endless deserts beneath them. Will, certainly, kill many. Perhaps a great many. And who is she? A jumped-up mechanic, an angry little girl from the Deep Waste, deciding who lives and dies.

“Ready.”

He reaches for the button, but Sai beats him to it. He just got teary over an old map; she will be able to bear this better than he can. He looks annoyed, but she doesn’t care. Slowly, they steer the plane to follow the path of the currents, wind lifting a cloud of yellow haze behind them.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Feelings To Write About

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @spaghetti4u

Pairings/Characters: KomaHina + mentioned KamuKoma

Rating/Warnings: G

Prompt: “Hinata or someone else trying to encourage Komaeda into doing something funny to spend the time (going to the beach, playing some game or anything really!)” + “Sharing a bed”

Author’s notes: It’s a pretty lowkey fic, and I ended up having them talk about the WoH because I have fluffy feelings when it comes to them. Cakeland is obviously based off Candyland which I have a lot of nostalgia for. I hope it’s cutesy enough for you!

The weather on Jabberwock wasn’t the perfect, eternal sunshine it had been in the simulation. There were storms and quite harsh ones at that. Hence why when him and Komaeda got caught up in one, he brought Komaeda with him to the hotel for studier shelter rather than just relying on one of their cottages. It was one of those weeks where the others were out trying to fix other parts of the world or meeting with the other sections of the Future Foundation, so the hotel was as vast as it was vacant. Hinata doesn’t try to think about how this scenario is like a million haunted movies and games—he especially doesn’t want to think about games—and instead, he focuses on drying Komaeda’s hair off with several towels.

Komaeda is docile when being fussed over, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. Hinata wraps him in some blankets for good measure, trying to keep a straight face when Komaeda sneezes.

“If we get enough blankets and pillows, this won’t be too bad a place to sleep for the night,” he says, tearing open a tissue packet pulled from Komaeda’s pocket for the other to blow his nose on. Hinata does flash him a smile, playing idly with the wet but still springy curls on his boyfriend’s head. “Do you need anything else to make yourself comfortable?”

“Mm.” A noncommittal hum and a meek shrug. Komaeda’s been in a low mood all day and the storm hadn’t seemed to help measures. Hinata tries to retain a reassuring smile as he tucks silvery strands behind the other’s ear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

I wouldn’t ask if that were true. Hinata bites his tongue. You know I would’ve just decided what to do without you. You probably wouldn’t even care in this state.

“There might be board games,” he found himself saying. “How about we play something to pass the time? You like Go, right?”

Komaeda shrugs again, as if he didn’t carry around go jars all throughout high school and even had them stored in his cottage at that exact moment. Hinata can only sigh and go along with Komaeda’s unstated hesitance.

“Maybe something new,” he said as we went to the closet where the board games were stored. “Variety is the spice of life.”

Komaeda sneezes behind him and makes no further comments. Fine. That’s fine. Hinata should just focus on deciding—or just grab the first thing that catches his eye and settle with that. Which is what he does. Either the dormant Kamukura Izuru’s kicking him in the mental balls right now or Komaeda’s momentary apathy is contagious.

He could figure out which if he thought about it. He elects not to think as to conserve energy. This is how he lives his life now.

Although the board game he grabbed is—not really to his or to Komaeda’s tastes. He still commits and takes it with him before setting it in front of Komaeda. Komaeda does look at the cover, his mouth twitching.

“Cakeland,” Hinata read aloud. “For ages 4 and up. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this is Usami’s doing.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it before,” Komaeda said, soft and low. “Utsugi-san was fond of it. She always forced me to be Donatsuo. She hated that character most.”

Even without a genius brain, Hinata can tell who that is. The donuts-themed boy with short choppy hair and absurdly large, caramel-colored eyes.

“This was Utsugi-san’s character of choice,” Komaeda recalled, tapping his finger against a happy girl in pink. “Ichigo-hime.”

“So,” Hinata said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Was this game any good?”

“It’s not very complicated because it’s for kids, ages four and up,” was Komaeda’s dull response.

“We’re not kids but we’re older than four, so we should be fine.”

With all that said, it looked like they were playing Cakeland. Hinata sets up the board—which is even kitschier in design than the box and he picks the character that looked the most normal-ish save for a strange hairstyle—identified by Komaeda as the Baron Maron. Komaeda does look between them and muffle a small snort, and Hinata doesn’t care to ask.

Komaeda picks Donatsuo, although he very lovingly places other pieces aside. Ichigo-hime and a few others who mysteriously had similar color schemes to those troubled kids he babysat all that time ago. As Servant. In Towa. After Enoshima Junko died but they were still all in despair.

That he can even have fond memories at all—

Hinata feels his throat burn with questions, but swallows back and just rolls the dice.

“We’re just both going to get six,” Komaeda said. “What to do?”

Hinata doesn’t say that he could probably get any roll he so wanted, so he just grumbles.

“I’ll go first because it’s in my name. Sound enough logic?”

Komaeda giggled warmly. It strikes a soft chord within him, and his heart may or may not do a flip in appreciation of such a sound.

“Whatever,” Hinata says, drawing a card. “What’s important are these, anyway. Wow, I drew you.” He does flash the card, showcasing Donatsuo with a dorky grin and dual peace signs. “Guess that means I go to your character space. It’s the first one on the map though so it’s not that far ahead.”

“It’s good luck to get that at the beginning of the game but bad luck to get that at the end,” Komaeda said, drawing his own card. He just gets a plain color so he only moves ahead four spaces. “Since your luck is better than mine, I wonder if this is even a fair game…”

“Your luck is still formidable,” Hinata pointed out as he drew. It was green. That was five spaces. “I’d say it breaks to about even.”

“Oh, no,” Komaeda breathed, shaking his head. “No, that’s wrong. Comparing my luck to yours is like comparing a gnat to a swan because both can fly.”

“It’s not…” Hinata sputtered a bit, unsure of what the hell to make of that. “What does that even mean? Komaeda, your—your luck’s on a whole other level. You should know that more than anyone.”

Komaeda just draws. He still hasn’t selected a special card. Hinata ends up drawing the next one, a strange angelic figure named Enjunji, who he just didn’t get good vibes from.

“Kemuri-kun’s favorite,” Komaeda said quietly and Hinata moved further ahead. It was the closest character space in reality, so it still wasn’t impressive.

I have a feeling I know how this is gonna go.

Still, they kept playing.

“You’re still like that, huh,” Hinata mused quietly. “You’re still—really harsh on yourself. That hasn’t changed, but I suppose other things have.”

“Other things?” Komaeda echoed before laughing. “Like what, per say?”

“You’re not as reckless as you used to be,” was the immediate answer. Another draw. Another several steps ahead. Komaeda’s piece was struggling to keep up. “You’re much calmer. You don’t talk about hope and talent all the time.”

“Because,” Komaeda said. “Hope’s Peak—the encapsulation of all of that—was in reality a breeding ground for despair. It was poisoned to the core and I was just too blind to notice.”

We all were, myself especially, Hinata thought, reaching up to touch his temple. He knew Komaeda noticed, but his eyes screwed shut so that he wouldn’t have to see whatever warp Komaeda’s face. I wasn’t just blind, I was so, so fucking stupid.

“You agreed to be with me,” he forced out so that he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about his own failures. “Your old self never would’ve let yourself have any real sense of happiness. At least not something you’d have to maintain, like a relationship.”

Komaeda chuckled. “You mean you would’ve let me reject you?”

“You did reject me,” Hinata reminded him dryly. “Several times. And then you demanded Tsumiki make sure I didn’t have brain damage.”

“Oh, did I?” Komaeda tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I still find your attachment to me nonsensical, especially when I more or less stated I wanted nothing to do with you in the past. But—I suppose you knew that was a lie, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re a liar.” Hinata cracked a smile. “At least when it comes to your feelings. You’re sincere most of the time.”

“The proper word is stupid,” Komaeda said, moving his piece a single space with a nudge from a metallic finger. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Don’t say that. You shouldn’t even think it.”

Hinata’s tone was as serious as it was grim. Komaeda’s self-effacing expression twitched, but he simply ducked his head reservedly.

“It’s in moments like this where you most resemble Kamukura-kun,” he murmured, fringe falling before his eyes and obscuring his gaze. “He’d speak up like this in the past despite being so quiet most of the time.”

Hinata felt a stirring in the back of his head. He held his breath until it went away and all that was left was the pounding in his ears. Even with that, he still knew.

“He cared about you.”

Kamukura doesn’t let him see into those memories often, although he still sometimes imagined it—maybe even dreamed it. Komaeda Nagito, eyes murky with despair and shoulders trembling under the weight of it, smiling up at him.

“He didn’t think to acknowledge it, much less accept it,” he went on, rubbing his digits into his scalp and catching skin flakes and rain droplets under his nails. “I was the same way in the simulation.”

“You both had strong reasoning to be that way, my inherent worthlessness none withstanding.” Komaeda laughed. “I wasn’t exactly in my best frame of mind at either time, although that’s not saying much.”

“Nor was I,” Hinata retorted. “I even denied part of my identity. I was—pathetic. You were right about that.”

Komaeda is quiet, lips twisting. His shoulders shake briefly under a certain kind of weight. Hinata draws his next card, and it’s another character, a studious blue one named Chouchoux.

“You were an ass about it,” he said. “Like, an absolute ass. But, hey, definitely not the worst thing about you at the time. By the way, this one was used for Shingetsu Nagisa, wasn’t it?”

Komaeda nodded, fiddling with his mechanical hand and making a loud series of whirly noises. He drew his card as well. Another plain one, with his piece moving only two spaces ahead.

Hinata draws and it’s a card of a boy in stripes and red, looking fierce and fiery. Torayaki—obviously the favored character of one Daimon Masaru.

“Do you miss them?” he found himself asking. “If so, we can contact Towa City and ask Naegi’s sister how they’re doing. They might even be curious about you.”

“I doubt it,” Komaeda laughed mirthlessly. “And it’s fine. As long as they’re doing well.”

“I don’t think they hated you,” Hinata said. “You took care of them after all.”

“I was a wretched despair.” Komaeda shook his head. “And they were perfectly self-sufficient. I doubt they even think of me anymore—and rightfully so. I only approached them in the first place out of curiosity, not because I saw children who needed protection and guidance.”

“They would’ve killed you if you had,” Hinata can’t help but remind him. “Probably would’ve found that sentiment insulting with all that they’ve been through. They were children and angry ones at that. I don’t blame them, of course…” He trails off. “I don’t think it’d be bad to send a letter now that things have calmed down a little.”

Not to mention—you lit up when talking about them. You’ve been listless lately, and I know. I get it. There’s no particular reason for it, that’s just how depression works sometimes. I still missed your smile, Nagito.

“Just a letter shouldn’t be too bad,” he insisted. “You’ve been practicing your calligraphy with that hand after all.”

The hand in question flexes. No joints pop, it’s just more whirls. Komaeda does smile, but it’s one that is curled up on his face, like a body trying to keep itself warm in the cold.

Hinata draws Ichigo-hime next. At this rate, Komaeda has no chance of winning. But the funny thing about a game like this was that luck of the draw could flip things so easily. There was one last character space, furthest ahead and closest to the end.

“Maybe,” Komaeda says and—as expected, he draws the card.

It’s a young woman dressed in green named Monaka-jou-sama.

Komaeda wins the games just a few turns later.

Outside, it was still storming.

“It’s pretty late, so let’s get ready for bed, Nagito.”

“Okay.”

Hinata goes to find futons while Komaeda puts away the board game. Hinata sets up a couple of makeshift beds and he presses them together. He does pause afterward, wondering if this was right. He heard Komaeda shuffling about, the whirling of his arm, and then, he felt Komaeda sliding the board game back onto the shelf. Thunder rumbles, the trees are being rustled by the wind, and Komaeda lets out a soft whew.

Hinata is still up until the moment he hears the padding of Komaeda’s soft footsteps, and he only truly relaxes when Komaeda’s slim arms encircle his waist, with Komaeda pressing his face into Hinata’s back. He pets Komaeda’s hair with a lop-sided smile, and Komaeda’s cheeks puff.

“You don’t just remember the simulation, right,” he murmured. “You have Kamukura-kun’s memories, too.”

“Technically,” Hinata replied. “Kamukura Izuru has to share them with me first. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

Komaeda huffed.

“It’s so complicated, keeping you two separate yet also together. Sometimes I wonder who I’m with.”

I wonder that, too. But what matters is…

“Regardless of who I am, I still love you.” He pats Komaeda’s head. “That much is and always will be clear.”

“Regardless of who you are, I love you, too,” is mumbled into his back.

It’s so soft a sound that Hinata wouldn’t have even heard him if not for the vibrations, but that’s fine. It’s not like he’s ignorant to Komaeda’s feelings. Not anymore.

He ushers Komaeda under the blankets, Komaeda still clinging to his wrist all the while. Chuckling softly, Hinata slips in after him and squeezes Komaeda’s hand. He rubs his thumb against the other’s pulse, only pausing because Komaeda grips him with the mechanical hand. His grip only tightens when Hinata kisses his forehead and then down his face.

“When the storm passes,” Hinata says, nuzzling along Komaeda’s jawline and pressing another kiss to his cheek where ensuing the blush tinted it pink. “We should send out letters.”

Komaeda ducks his head, but he still accepts the affection that he’s showered with.

“We should also walk along the beach, maybe,” Hinata teases. “See what gets washed up. It might be treasure.”

“You’re a treasure,” Komaeda retorted, flustered. Shoving Hinata’s hands off and his face away, he buried his face into Hinata’s chest, hiding it from further embarrassment. “You’re the worst thing to have ever washed up on that beach.”

Hinata hummed, stroking his hair.

I didn’t technically wash up, but…

“And yet you stayed behind for me.” Hinata hides his smile in those wild white curls. “You’re still here right now.”

Komaeda grumbled but gave no further response. That was fine. Perfectly fine.

Stay with me, alright? Please keep staying with me. He decided against asking that for now for now. Opting instead for, “Sweet dreams, Nagito. I love you.”

[indianamoonshine]

𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑒

• 𝚋𝚎𝚗 𝚡 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 •

➪ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑛. ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑀𝑂𝐷𝐸𝑅𝑁 𝐴𝑈.

☕︎︎ 𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑡 (𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠)

꧁꧂

autumn in new york.

it was your favorite time of year. it smelled of dead leaves and school supplies. the sky was usually clouded with rain, wind swirling whirligigs from maple trees in a chaotic dance at your feet. and while new york was polluted, the air felt clean. crisp.

the leisured walk to your apartment from your nearest starbucks wasn’t very long. the knitted scarf made by your sister protected you against any chill that might redden your cheeks, but the two cups of coffee in your hands did most of the warming.

well, one cup of coffee. the other was a hot chocolate. you couldn’t have coffee. not anymore.

you walk up the stairs of the apartment building and buzz the com. you’d forgotten your keys when you’d left this morning. ben was asleep when you’d gone; he’d worked a late shift at the garage outside of the city. seven A.M might as well have been midnight for him.

“yeah?” a voice calls from the speaker. it’s sleepy. rough. friendly.

you lean in, pressing the button again. “it’s me. i brought you something.”

ben clears his throat. “where’s your key?”

“i forgot it,” you admit. you wish you could blame it on your current physique, but you’d always been forgetful; it’ll probably get worse as the months go on.

you smile as you listen to ben’s laughter filter through the speaker. “of course you did.”

the door unlocks with a loud mechanism. you push through and sigh with relief upon entering the warm lobby. it had to have been forty degrees outside.

the stairwell was a bitch - your natural born enemy - but you made it after five minutes.

you rapt on the door marked 218. the gilded numbers were chipping a bit, the handle also somewhat in need of a paint job, but it was the least of your concerns.

ben opens the door. he’s shirtless, only in his sweatpants that cling to his hips, and a head of hair that was rustled from sleep. even after three years, the sight of him half-naked and still lingering of dreams was enough to make you swoon.

you stand on your tippy toes for a kiss when he greets you. he obliges with a small grin, lips pressing against yours like a gift. and they were.

ben pulls away and looks at the coffee in your hand. “that for me?”

you nod, pushing past him and into the apartment. he quietly shuts the door behind you and takes the cups so that you may shed your coat.

“must be cold out,” he jokes. he sets the coffee on the kitchen table and places a hand on your cheek. “you’re freezing.”

“it has to be, like, forty degrees outside. the wind chill might make it less...” you mumble, untangling the scarf from your neck. you toss it onto the couch, along with your beret.

ben smirks at you, probably admiring the way your cheeks have blushed from the cold - how the pink makes your eyes look brighter than what they actually are. under his scrutiny, you duck your head in embarrassment and reach for your hot chocolate.

“starbucks?” he asks, taking a drink. he prefers black coffee. no sugar. two shots of espresso. it absolutely disgusted you but it’s what he liked.

you hum in agreement. “of course. what are we? animals?”

he laughs, opening the fridge. “you hungry?”

“no, actually...” you trail off. your stomach churns at the inevitable conversation.

would now be the right time? while he was still enjoying his coffee? or should it be said later when he was lounging across your lap where he could potentially feel the swell of your hipbones?

ben pulls out a package of sausage and starts searching for a pan. “you sure? i have your favorite sausage.”

bob evans sausage. growing up in the midwest definitely had its perks, but new york didn’t provide your comfort food from out of region. ben had actually ordered it specially for you after you’d complained of cravings. you hadn’t understood why you were salivating over it so much until last night, but suddenly the idea wasn’t appetizing at all.

“i’m sure,” you confirm, watching as he turns on the knob of the stove.

there’s a brisk silence. nothing but the sizzle of meat against iron or the way ben hums the song that’s been in his head for past two days. and watching this domestic bliss, despite it being so simple, brought tears to your eyes.

now was the right time.

you pull a chair out from the table and it squeaks along the linoleum flooring. “ben?” you ask when settled.

he turns, dark eyes looking more alert then before. sleep was vanishing from his face. “what’s up, baby?”

you smile at that, warming your hands against the sides of the cocoa you’d ordered with extreme caution. it was becoming increasingly difficult to find something you could keep down this past month. you trace an invisible pattern against the grain of the table.

“um, i picked up something at the drug store last night,” you sort of mumble. how did one broach this subject, anyway?

ben looks warily at you over his shoulder. “yeah?”

maybe he knows? maybe you’re not giving him enough credit? your thoughts swim so rapidly you feel as though they’ll drown and you along with them. you gulp, suddenly wishing very much that you could’ve spiked your drink with liquid courage.

you decide to blurt it out. otherwise, you’d dance around the news for hours.

“it was a pregnancy test.”

ben doesn’t freeze like you thought he would. he doesn’t even turn around. he continues to tend to the sausage in the pan like life-changing news hadn’t just escaped your mouth.

finally, he nods to the meat in front of him. “okay.”

you gulp. “it was positive. i’m pregnant.”

this is what causes him to freeze. you’re greatly relieved by this. finally a legitimate response.

ben takes the flipper and tosses the sausage onto a plate. there’s four pieces. he takes two of them and stuffs them in his mouth, despite the fact that they’re sizzling hot. you cringe on his behalf.

he walks the plate over and sets it before you. the expression on his face is indistinguishable until he seats himself in the chair opposite of you.

he swallows the last remaining bit of food. “i know,” he says simply.

he knows?

you blink. “what?”

he nods wordlessly and pushes a fork to you. “yeah. i knew before you got the test.”

you ignore the fork. “how?”

“you’ve been having cravings. you can barely sleep. and if you think i can’t hear you in the bathroom in the morning...” he trails off, but his expression is in good humor. “now eat. you need the protein.”

you’re at a complete loss for words. “you knew?”

he nods. “you haven’t started your period yet. yours is always on schedule...and the only reason i know that is because of the calendar in the bathroom.”

finally a good reason for the calendar; you knew it’d prove useful one day.

you grab the fork with hesitation and slowly cut a piece of the sausage. it suddenly smells appealing, even mouthwatering. you chew on it for a second, mulling over the taste and grease, and finally decide it’s okay.

“i would’ve said something, but i didn’t know for sure and i didn’t want to assume,” ben says, meticulously watching every bite you take. it’s almost as if he’s expecting you to spit it out at any moment.

that didn’t seem so far fetched. nothing ever seemed to settle your stomach.

“it’s okay,” you smile. “i’m glad you’re so observant. i was worried i’d give you a heart attack.”

ben gives you a full-bodied smile back. he shows teeth while laughing. “don’t be so relieved. now that i know for sure, i feel a little faint.”

your grin fades quickly. “you’re not...”

his laughter stops and his eyes grow sad. when he realizes his implication had sounded disappointed, he rushes to your side and looks up at you from his knees.

“no, no.” he takes your hands in his. “that’s not what i meant at all.” he brushes your lips with the back of his knuckles. “i meant that i’m faint with happiness.”

you blink rapidly again, his unbridled joy still registering in your mind. logically, you knew his reaction would be positive, but there was always that fear he’d be disappointed, that he might suggest getting rid of it. you suddenly feel guilty that ben would think these things at all.

“you’re not mad?” you ask, tears threatening again.

he chuckles under his breath. “baby, why would i be mad?”

you shake your head. “i don’t know. i just...”

ben nods. “i know.” he kisses the back of your hand and presses it to his cheek. “i know.”

the wetness gathering in your eyes clouded your vision, but you smiled all the same. “do you have a preference?”

he automatically knew what you meant. he didn’t have to consider at all. “a girl,” he says confidently.

you let out a relieved giggle, though it’s masked with tears. you nod. “i’m so glad.”

“and you?” he wonders, looking up from your hands.

you run your free hand through his thick locks. “i want a boy. he’ll look just like his father...” you pause. “and hopefully have his hair, too.”

ben lets out a hearty chuckle and sets your hands against your belly. it didn’t look much different than before - it still curved the same way it had just a few months before, but it felt different. it felt useful - like a home. and it was.

“whatever it’ll be, they’ll be ours...” ben murmurs against your stomach. he kisses you just below your belly button, as though he’s confident you’re carrying low.

you weave your fingers through his hair still, massaging that part of his scalp that makes him purr in delight.

“does this mean if i want watermelon at midnight, you’ll get it for me?” you tease.

ben’s chuckle is muffled against your stomach. he’s still pressing kisses against the nearly invisible bump.

“watermelon is out of season, but i’ll make it happen anyway.”

[simsadventures]

Only Mine: Chapter 12: Time to Be a Hero

Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The ballroom is under attack. And you try to make it out alive. But not without Bucky.

Warnings: mobster AU, angst, guns, blood, fighting, swearing, death of a character, betrayal

Word Count: 2873

A/N: Some people missed the angst, so here’s some for you (yup, I’m looking at you @coffeebooksandfandom​). Anyway, did anyone miss Only Mine as much as I did? Hope you guys did, loved writing this part even though it’s of the less happy ones. Let me know what you guys thought about it all. FEEDBACK is gold, you know the drill xx

Series Masterlist ___ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

You groaned loudly as you rolled on the ground. You tried to focus long enough to find out what the hell was happening. You knew that there was somebody, or more people firing guns in the room, most probably looking for Bucky and his men. That made you an easy target as well because you were always by Bucky’s side.

Realising this you looked around yourself frantically, knowing you didn’t fall to the ground on your own volition. It must have been Bucky pushing you down so you wouldn’t be hurt. And you were right. Bucky was next to you, but unlike you, he was already on his feet, yelling orders at his men and looking around the room to find who the shooters were.

He briefly looked at you, looking for any apparent injuries that would prevent you from getting up, and when he saw none, he quickly grabbed your upper arm and pulled you up to his side.

You hissed in pain because you felt a sharp sting in your hip, and when you looked down to your left side, there was a shard of glass sticking out of your body. If you weren’t in such frantic situation, you would probably let yourself panic over it, and you’d most probably faint. But there was no time for that now.

Bucky followed your eyes, and when he saw the glass sticking out of you, he swore under his breath. He tried to touch it, but you swatted his hand away and took a deep breath. You needed to be strong not only for yourself but also for Bucky. You knew that he didn’t need a pretty face who would scream and faint in this situation. He needed a strong woman who would listen to his commands. You would have plenty of time to have a panic attack when this was all over, you told yourself.

You quickly pulled the shard out of your skin, stifling a painful moan in your throat. So that’s where the blood around you was from, you thought to yourself, patted your hip and threw the glass on the ground.

You then gripped Bucky’s hand in yours and gave him a reassuring squeeze which he reciprocated, only to turn around and yell at Sam behind the closest pillar to where you two were currently hiding.

“Sam! You have eyes on the shooter? We can’t go blasting shots through the room. There might civilians left here. They have nothing to do with this shit,” he yelled, but Sam yelled back that it was negative. They still couldn’t find whoever was shooting.

Just as he finished yelling, there was another round of bullets fired, most of them aimed at the two of you and your little pillar, which was shaking with the strength of those shots.

You took a deep breath and tried to make yourself as small as possible, trying not to be a target.

“Imma get you out of here, doll. You’re my priority,” Bucky said between the bullets as he gripped his own gun.

Before you knew it, he was standing a meter away from you, taking a few good shots after which a silence followed. Bucky obviously killed whoever was firing at you. But you knew you shouldn’t be hopeful. There definitely wasn’t just one shooter, so nobody was safe, yet.

“I love you, James, but I’m not the only person here. Please, make your life a priority as well,” you said with a stern look and Bucky smiled at you before he caressed your cheek briefly.

“I always knew I’d die doing this job, but I won’t have it that you die here as well. Even if it was the last thing I did, you’re getting out of here safe, Y/N,” Bucky whispered against your hair. You pushed him away slightly and took the lapels of his tuxedo.

“You listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. Stop talking like that or these shooters will be your last fucking worry, you hear me? If you want me to get out, you’re gonna have to get out as well. I’m not losing you, not so soon after I fucking found the love of my life,” you almost yelled into his face.

Bucky watched you in amazement, silent because of your little outburst. He knew that there wasn’t any other woman for him. Nobody was crazy enough to stay with him despite the shit-show his life was.

He just nodded and kissed you, letting all his emotions into the kiss for you to feel, for you to know that he would try to do everything in his power to live. For you, if not for anything else in this world.

He wanted to say something more when suddenly the room was pitch-black.

Great, now they cut the power, you thought and set your jaw. As scared as you were, you were getting pretty pissed at those fucking attackers. Did they really have to make it look like a scene from a shitty action movie? Everyone could have carried on shooting with the lights still on, but no. It wouldn’t have the effect, or whatever.

You knew your sarcastic self wasn’t helping anything at that moment, but you had to let out your fear somehow, and it was either being snarky in your own head or start crying and crumble on the floor. And you knew you couldn’t afford the second option.

You could feel Bucky pulling you down by your interlaced fingers, so you did the logical thing and crouched, although it was not the easiest thing to do in your high heels. But putting them down would only result in more shards in your feet, and so you decided to keep them on, however uncomfortable that was.

“We need to stay together, doll. You listen to everything I say when I say duck, you duck. When I say run, you fucking run, are we clear?” Bucky said intently, and you nodded.

“Yeah, very clear. I do everything you say, no talking back. You’re the boss,” you stated, and Bucky nodded, glad that you weren’t making a scene right now. Not that you were that kind of girl, but still. It was a possibility, especially in a moment like that.

You heard vibrations coming from Bucky’s pocket, and he quickly picked up his phone.

“Yes, Steve? Another two down, good. Do we know how many it actually was? You think 15? Alright, copy that. Be careful, try to kill as many motherfuckers as possible. I don’t give a shit about witnesses. I think we can be pretty sure as to who it was sending these men here. Yeah, me and Y/N are still in the main ballroom. Yup, Sam is still here, and I think Peter and Drax as well. Haven’t heard from anyone else, but hoping that they’re alright and fucking fighting. Alright,” Bucky finished his call, and then looked back at you.

“We gotta get out of here, doll. So we fight our way back, and then we’ll see. If everybody’s dead by then, we can go home, if not, you stay outside, and I’ll take care of business. We good?”

“Good,” you nodded and followed Bucky who carefully stood up, and started walking towards the exit. You knew he was doing it mostly for you, but you were still happy he didn’t send somebody else with you outside while he fought. You needed him healthy and happy, just like the rest of the gang.

You tried to tread carefully and silently, trying not to draw attention to the two of you by the clicking of your shoes. Just when you thought you outsmarted the idiots by taking the longer route outside, you saw a shadow in front of Bucky.

He was quick to let go of your hand, and thanks to your eyes already adjusting to the darkness, you could see a knife in that person’s hand, which Bucky dodged skilfully, knocking it out of the guy’s hand with one swing of his right arm, while his left arm grabbed the guy by his throat. The attacker was obviously surprised at Bucky’s swift motion, because he didn’t react at all, or very little, from what you saw.

When you heard a sickening crack, you knew Bucky broke his neck. Just like that, with his bare hands. It gave you a new respect for Bucky, and even a little fear, but you didn’t want to dwell on that. You couldn’t be afraid of your boyfriend. Not when you were sure he would never put his hand on you.

You continued on your way after that. You could hear some fighting from other parts fo the building, but you thought that you were staring to be safe more and more the closer you got to the door. And just as the thought crossed your mind, a rain of bullets hit you.

Bucky quickly pushed you in an adjacent empty room, closing the door with a thud and hiding behind one of the doors. You were surprised you were still unscratched except the one thing on your hip, and you sighed heavily, breathing out a relief.

You looked over at Bucky, wanting to tell him that you were two lucky sons of bitches when you saw his face contorted in pain.

You frantically got to your knees and scrambled closer to him to check his injuries. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest, and that’s how you knew that it was actually really bad. He must have been in a lot of pain for you to take care of him in a situation like that one.

You asses the injuries, seeing most of the blood was concentrated on his left arm. You pushed his sleeves out of the way and saw that a bullet hit him right through his shoulder, or very close to it.

The wound was bleeding like crazy, and you were afraid that at this frequency, he would bleed out in your hands. You quickly took off his jacket and pushed it against the wound. He hissed in pain, muttering insults not directly at you, but at the whole situation.

“You’re gonna be alright, baby, you just gotta stay awake for me, ok?” You murmured against Bucky’s cheek, trying to keep him awake. You rummaged through his pocket until you found his cell phone, quickly dialling Steve’s number.

“Steve? It’s me, Y/N. Bucky’s been hit, and it looks nasty. Can you come get us, or somebody? I need to get him out of here, and I don’t think I’ll be able to carry him, and he’s in no shape to walk on his own. Yeah, yeah, in that exact room. Alright. I’ll keep him awake. Hurry up, please,” you said through the speaker and ended the call to tend to Bucky.

He was watching you with a weird look in his eyes.

“Doll. You’re the best thing in my life, you know that, right?” He whispered, his voice shaking.

“Don’t,” you harshly told him, “don’t fucking say stuff like that right now. You’re not fucking dying, not on my watch, and if there’s anything on your mind, we can talk about it once we get out of here and get you to a hospital. So unless you wanna tell me something else, you only answer question I ask you, we clear? I’m the boss here now,” you said, swallowing your own emotions that were threatening to bubble up on the surface.

Bucky chuckled with evident difficulty, and you laid your hand on his chest.

“I love you, you crazy mobster. So just stay with me. So, tonight, I was pretty jealous because all those women looked like sluts. What did you think of it?” You said with a smirk, and Bucky shook his head at you.

You talked like this for a while, before you heard somebody coming in. Bucky was awfully quiet, and he tried to grab his gun, but he was too weak for that because of the blood-loss. You looked between him and whoever was coming before you leapt for the weapon. You saw the horror in Bucky’s eyes, but he still remained quiet.

You gripped the gun in your hand, the metal feeling extremely heavy in your hand, considering it was the first time you ever held anything like that. But you’ve watched enough crime series to know that all you had to do was pull the trigger since Bucky has been shooting with it already.

You aimed it at the unknown person coming into the room, praying that it was Steve who just didn’t announce himself and you wouldn’t hate to use the gun in your hand.

When the person came closer, you could see it was one of Bucky’s men. Bob, or what was he called. You were about to put the gun out of your hand when your instinct kicked in, and wouldn’t let you lower your hand. You’ve always had a weird feeling about him and Brock, and you couldn’t afford to take any chances. If he proved trustworthy, you could lower your gun later.

But from the looks of it, and his more than a sinister smile, you knew he wouldn’t give you the chance to lower it.

“Well, well, well. The boss wanted you alive, but I guess I can’t help myself, can I, Barnes? Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna shoot you some more, have fun with the pretty little thing next to you, and then I’ll kill you, how does that sound? I think it’s a pretty good plan, actually,” he mused still looking at Bucky.

You shivered knowing that if you didn’t step in, all of that would happen. You could hear he was talking some more, but you filtered it all. You aimed the gun as best as you could and steadied your hands to your best abilities before you pulled the trigger.

The noise was much louder than you expected, although mere minutes ago you were near many more guns. It was probably the weight of the situation. The gun was in your hands, and it was your very own hands that had to fire it and hurt somebody. You aimed at his chest, but when you looked at him to see if he would cause you any more trouble, you could see you hit him right between his eyes.

Weird feeling ran down your spine, and you had to keep breathing through your nose, or you’d vomit.

Instead, you looked at Bucky to check if he was still with you, but what you saw made you panic even more. His eyes were closed.

You put your hand under his nose to see if he was breathing and you could feel air coming out of his nose, however, shallow his breathing was. You were about to stand up and just drag him out of there however you could to save him when a bunch of people ran into the room.

You gripped the gun again, prepared to protect Bucky, but you realised that you knew these people. It was Steve, Sam, and Brock. You weren’t glad to see the last one, but the other two finally brought relief to your body.

“Y/N! How is he? And are you hurt?” Steve yelled, kneeling beside you, checking on Bucky’s pulse.

“He’s breathing, but it’s not good, Steve. We need to get him to hospital, now,” you yelled back, the adrenaline still very much present in your system. You were about to stand up when a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Wait a second. How come you have Bucky’s gun, he’s barely breathing and Bob, our friend Bob is laying here, with a bullet in his fucking brain? That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think, Y/N?” Brock asked, all serious.

You couldn’t believe your own ears.

“What are you even talking about, asshole? I was trying to protect Bucky, and your friend Bob here was obviously working for somebody else as well, from what he told us,” you answered, not believing this was actually happening.

“Oh, right, and he had his evil speech about what he is about to do and what his plan was, just like in movies, didn’t he, Y/N? Everything seems to be playing in your cards, weirdly enough,” Brock growled as he neared you.

“Enough. Our priority is to get Bucky to the hospital, and then we can figure out what the fuck happened. Y/N will go with us, and somebody will stay with her at all times, just to play it safe,” Steve said, not sparing you a look as him and Sam picked Bucky up and rushed out of the room, leaving you with Brock, who harshly tugged you by your upper arm.

This wasn’t happening, you kept repeating to yourself, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. Not only were you shot at, and you had to kill a person in order to protect your boyfriend, you were also accused of orchestrating the whole thing.

Brock was right in one thing, you thought. This really was like something out of a bad movie.

/Next Chapter >

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[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Self Destruct.”

Lol, wrote this one because I was thinking about it and it seemed liek aliens would find it sort of weird. Also they are totally stupid if they don’t take advantage of it :) 

The club was dark, an electronic human beat thundered through the floor as neon lights flashed and faded in time with the music. They kept it like that to keep off unwanted visitors. Generally only humans, Drev and Tesraki were willing to come into such an establishment. It tended to keep away all the goodie goodies who were to logical or law-abiding to see the true value of running under the radar.

Plus the music was loud enough, ad the humans were strange enough that they tended to draw the attention away from other aliens, and as far as the humans went, you just made sure to have half naked humans, and that generally dealt with anyone else who might be eavesdropping. Kinda hard to concentrate when your baser instincts are taking over.

It was with these rules and precautions in place that the syndicate met with each other, under the throbbing pulse  of the club’s beat, and the glowing light of neon.

There were five of them all together.

There were two Tesraki. One a young female with velvety black fur sitting cuddled close to a serious-faced dark-skinned human. He didn’t seem to notice her clinging to his arm as she was. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice much, a distant far-away look in his eyes either the product of cortical damage or the ravages of drugs though he was big, and acted as a good deterrent for anyone, human, or otherwise who might think about approaching uninvited.

Just to the side of them were two drev, one of them a mysterious pearlescent silver, and the other a rare sheen of black run up and down with strange rainbow light. He kept quiet his head down towards the table.

The last figure sat at the head of the table. A tesraki, tawny in color. One of his ears was rather mangled flopped constantly to one side and unable to move as the other was. He was missing a finger on his left hand leaving him with only three fingers, though all seven of his remaining digits were covered in rings and jewels. His beady black eyes blinked int the strobing of the neon lights.

“Well, do you have it.”

The dark furred Drev glowered at him while stroking her large human companion’s arm, “Payment first.”

The tesraki snarled, “Like I would trust you with payment.”

“Then at least let me make sure you have the credits.” She patted the human’s arm. If you don’t I will be forced to ask Z to deal with you, and he doesn't like having to deal with people.” 

Noctus snarled, but pulled a bag of credits from his belt and tossed it onto the table, a few of them spilling out onto it’s clear reflective surface dancing with the blue and pink neon lights overhead.

She reached out a hand beady black eyes wide with greed, but her hand was slapped away, “Now my information.”

She sighed but leaned back in her chair, “What do you want first, the object or the other information.”

“Why not talk about the object first.”

She shrugged, “No big deal. You’ll be able to find it in one of the shops on fifth three days from tomorrow. At that point it will be at its most vulnerable, and you will be able to take it without too much difficulty. Between the times of high sun, and a first moon low, security will be minimal, and anyone talented enough will be able to get in and take it. Now ... coming into the real problem, is actually getting out.”

Noctus crossed his arms, “Go on.” A group of loud drunken humans stumbled into the room adding a greater degree of chaos to the room.

“The GA has caught wind of our activities….”

Noctus groaned head thudding against the table as he rested his forehead against the cold glass.

“Expect to see some old friends of yours, Noctis.” The silver drev teased her yellow eyes squinted with amusement and pleasure at the Tesraki’s expense.

The dark female nodded, “Expect it. I heard rumors that they have THOSE humans working on it while they do repairs in our port. Usually I wouldn’t agree to something this dangerous now that THEY are involved, but…. That was before I heard about this thing.” She patted the big human’s arm.

“Well go on, don’t leave us in suspense.”

She grinned, “My informants have given me words, about something that could change the way we interact with humans. A last resort against their power and speed when all else is lost. It is guaranteed to work on at least fifty percent of the human population.”

“Only fifty percent.” Noctus demanded.

She frowned at him, “that’s fifty percent of humans YOU don’t have to deal with. Now let me finish.” She adjusted herself and continued, “I am told that this simple trick CAN incapacitate a human for up to an hour. You see, the way that some humans are built its like they have a natural…. Self destruct button, and if you can hit it, you win. Granted it isn’t likely to kill them, but making and injuring is a possibility.”

“And how does this help. If you are that close to a human than you are probably already dead anyway.” 

She waved a hand, “that is not the important part.” She reached behind her back and pulled out a little devie, something like a drone but not quite, “You remember this little gadget don’t you.”

“Isn’t that one of those self defence items for use against humans.”

She grinned and nodded, “This one is specific to the use of pressure points on the body as you will recall.” 

“Yeah, but it's not lethal, and my colleagues have shown that most humans can fight through it. And the way it was programmed immediately has the authorities raining down on us if we try to program it for more LETHAL things.”

She grinned at him, “Oh, but that is the beauty about this little piece of information. It isn’t lethal, but it has an extremely high incapacitation rate,  AND because it is not lethal, or even known to most of the GA, nothing is sanctioned against it. In essence, we have found a loophole.”

There was a pause around the room, “And has it been programmed into this device?”

She nodded another smug grin pushing it across the table, “Already done. Now it is up to your dark friend there to get things done.” She glanced towards the black Drev who sa brooding in his corner.

Slowly, and with one of his four arms, he reached out and picked up the object  kneading it in his four fingers, “Do you think you can do it?” Noctus demanded.

“Think, no. I know.”

***

The alarm sounded behind him as he slithered through the gap between two buildings and into a back alley. His dark carapace shimmered in the neon lights from billboards overhead, and he could hear the roaring of voices from down the street.  He recognized most of them as human.

He glanced over his shoulder having expected to be pursued, but he didn’t see anyone.

He turned back to the front alley breaking into a jog over the cold metal feet thudding quietly. He was almost there when, a shadow moved into the gap in front of him. In comparison to himself it was rather small, but the bipedal two armed nature of the creature made him pull to a stop.

He had expected this.

The human stepped from the shadows. He was tall for a human, but short compared to even the shortest Drev. He had tawny yellow fur atop his head, and was missing an eye. If what they said was true, he was also missing a leg. His face was mottled with the blue green luminance of the UV light playing along invisible stripes within his skin.  That same blue green glowed inside that single green eye. 

The fact that he was here didn’t exactly bode well for their little operation.

“Jeeajish daeen! Neh’hastish!” 

He was momentarily shocked into stillness surprised at hearing the drev language spoken by the squishy creature. 

He paused in place, “I have never met a human who could speak Drev before.”

The human stepped forward blue neon light highlighting the right side of his face, pink neon light lighting the left, “Well, now you have. I suggest you get on the ground and put your hands in the air before I am forced to do it for you.”

“Only you?” He wondered

“Je, zhe s nee tadi.” 

He turned in a sharp circle towards the second alley to his right to find the small female Drev stepping from the shadows, her beautiful luminescent blue dampened somewhat by the fluorescent yellow light at her back.

The human stepped closer, “I don’t suggest trying her unless you want to be humiliated.” 

The Drev turned back to the human reaching discreetly behind his back, “Oh, I don’t plan on it.” he pressed his finger into the trigger, and the little drone shot out from his hand.

***

Adam felt the impact a good five seconds before the pain set in. He had even gone to take a step thinking he would be ok, but knew he was wrong when his vision faded to grey.

***

The Drev thought it hadn’t worked at first. The human looked surprised , and then his skin slowly went white the rosy undertone fading from his face before he collapsed to the ground. He didn’t bother to look back racing forward and leaping over the human’s fallen body.” 

***

Death, death was upon him. He was going to die…. He wanted to die. It came in throbbing waves of agony through his innards. Like getting the wind knocked out of you but worse because at the same time he felt the overwhelming need to vomit. He barely recalled hitting the ground, but there it was right next to his face as he gagged and gasped curled into a ball on the cold metal of a filthy back alleyway. His vision was fuzzy and dark around the edges, so he barely noticed as a dark for leaped over him and raced into the crowd. He heaved again nears springing to his eyes with the horrific pain as if all his bowels were about to go shooting out of his body while his lungs refused to expand.

***

Sunny didn’t see what happened, one minute Adam had been facing off against the dark Drev, the next moment he had been on the ground while the other drev was escaping. She raced after him, but stopped upon coming to her fallen companion. Adam lay on the filthy ground curled into a tight ball. A high pitched sort of keening was breaking from his mouth as he rocked back and forth on the ground. That was only occasionally broken by the coughing and gagging. He was as pale as a sheet and tears were dripping from his exposed eye, which was squeezed shut. Little beads of sweat were rolling from his hairline and clinging to his skin. 

Sunny stopped in place and keyed her mic in frustration, “Man down! He’s getting away. He did something to Adam.” She tried to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder, but the human snarled at her swiping away her hand before curling back into a ball. Sunny leaned back in shock and surprise. She had never seen a human go that feral before.

“Maintaining pursuit.” Maverick panted over the radio.

Boots thundered against the ground down the alleyway, and sunny looked up to find team 2, headed by ramirez run into the alley.

The olive-skinned human pulled to a stop upon seeing the scene eyes going wide and then grimacing, “Oh shit.”

“What is going on.” Sunny demanded.

Ramirez walked over, “Ur…. he will be ok… hopefully.” he grimaced as he watched his friend writhe on the ground at his feet. Sunny saw his hands twitch, and he had gone almost as pale as Adam. Sunny had never seen an empathy reaction that obvious before.

***

He took another corner grinning to himself. It had worked, it had worked like a charm, the creepy little Tesraki hadn’t been wrong, and now he was pretty sure he had lost his pursuit. He turned another corner and skidded to a halt as another human blocked his path. This one was even shorter than the first by almost a foot, practically puny, compared to a drev. She too had a sort of white tawny hair and glittering hazel eyes. 

“Go on, try it. I'll kick your ass either way.” He smirked reaching behind his back and pressing the little button on the drone.

The human staggered back curling forward and yelping in pain, “SHIT!”

He waited for her to go down, but after a moment she straightened up face twisted into an expression of anger, “Ouch…” She snarled, and then ran at him.

***

Andam was getting ready to beg god to end him right there, when the horrific pain started to dull. He no longer needed to throw up, and he could breathe again. But walking was out of the question. Uncurling form his ball, he saw he was surrounded by a group of grimacing marines. 

Ramirez knelt next to him, “You ok.”

He grimaced trying to make a coherent thought, “They…. Know.”

He sighed, “They were bound to figure it out at some point.”

***

They were expecting Maverick, and for such reason were not surprised one she showed up dragging the incapacitated Drev behind her in power restraints. Her face was sort of twisted into an expression of mild discomfort and she threw the drev onto the ground at their feet, “I caught him.”

Adam looked up from where he was sitting, still looking green, on a discarded crate in the side of the alley.

“What do we know.” Ramirez asked

She smirked, “Apparently, dipshit here was told that his little device here.” She held it up, “Had the power to incapacitate fifty percent of the human population, apparently he didn’t stop to tell hi WHICH fifty percent of the population it wouldn't work on.” She grimaced again, “Not that it didn’t hurt, bastard.” 

Adam lowered his head with a groan.

Maverick patted his arm, “hopefully you don’t lose anything.”

“My pride…. My dignity.” He moaned.

 “Too late.”

Too bad the aliens hadn’t figured out who it would work on. It’s not everyday you learn a weakness that applies to fifty percent of a species. 

However now fifty percent of the human population was in…. Mild to moderate danger. 

Is not everyday that aliens have power over humans

[lifeofroos]

Part 35: Alright, you might notice I made some things up,,,

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, Nico has had a bad dream. The rest of my story can be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! Also in tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, pjo etc. 

This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 35: Hypnos’ sleepy tea

I woke up with a loud gasp. I clutched my blanket and only let go once my breathing slowed down a little. By accident, I dropped my blanket, so that a wave of cold hit me. I cringed and tried to take a deep breath. 

I wanted to tell myself that it was just a dream, but I could not believe it. After a few minutes of staring off into darkness, I groaned and slowly got out of bed. The floor felt cold to my feet. I found my aviator jacket on the floor near my half-built IKEA cabinet. While I was putting it on, I stumbled to my closet. Even though I had been fully aware of my cold feet the entire time, I only noticed I wasn’t wearing any socks after I had shadowtravelled to the big house. 

Dionysus was sitting in the living room, facing the fireplace. While I walked into the room, he turned his head around. ‘Nico?’

‘Yes.’ 

He turned to the fireplace again. At once, it lit up. ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’

‘I had a nightmare.’ I slowly padded closer to the couch. 

‘Sit down.’ I did. 

A cup of tea appeared on the coffee table. ‘Here, tea, it has a formula that will help you sleep...’

‘Chamomile?’

‘No. Or well, maybe. It was made by Hypnos.’ He looked at me for a second.

 I picked up the cup and took a sip. It tasted like regular chamomile. 

‘But, you said you had a nightmare.’

‘Yes. And I have two things to say about that. First, I think it has to mean something, because of course it does. The second thing is that tonight, I don’t really want to think about it. I just want to calm down enough so that I can go back to sleep and then analyse it some other time.’

‘The tea will get you to sleep alright. Or so I think.’ Dionysus gestured at my cup. ‘But I understand you want to talk about it. And I am awake anyway, so go ahead.’ 

I wondered what he had been up for. Oh well. 

I sighed. ‘First, I was walking through a random street. There were some people there, and cats, lots of cats. I think some people were actually cats as well. Yetm slowly, the living things start to dissappear. No more cats, no more anything. It became dark and the pavement stopped. I walked straight into the darkness. When I turned around, there was nothing behind me, only black, until the only place that had anything else than black was the tile I was standing on.’ 

The fire popped. I stopped talking and looked at it for a second, before turning back to Dionysus. ‘Go on. The fire won’t hurt you.’ 

‘Of course not!’ I adjusted my jacket. ‘But, uh, in my dream, stuff began to rain down on me. In my dream, it was death. I don’t remember what it looked like, but… you know what I mean!’

He got a sly smile on his face. ‘I think I do.’ 

‘Hm. So, anyway, I was standing there in this rain of death and I began hearing the voices. They were very loud and told me… no, they begged me to come to Tartarus. Something about awakening and saving them and that I am so close already.’ I shrugged. ‘I saw a face with horns, vampire teeth and eyes the colour of blood, a few snakes dropped from the sky and then I woke up.’ I took a sip of tea and yawned. ‘It was so weird.’

‘...yeah, it’s strange.’ Dionysus shifted around for a bit. With a snap of his fingers, a second cup appeared.  He picked it up and took a sip. 

‘Sorry if I begin to analyse it too much,’ he said, ‘But it seems as if certain parts have a clear meaning. I think the voices mean exactly what they are saying.’ 

‘Yes. I don’t really worry about those voices, actually, they have been there longer.’

‘Which is not something you should just accept as reality when we may be able to do something about it.’ 

I shrugged and looked at my tea. ‘True. But, I worry more about the… death shower. Because it makes me feel like something bad is about to happen if I don’t act on what the voices tell me to do soon.’

Dionysus took another sip. The flames created weird patterns on his face.  

‘Do you hear the voices right now?’

‘Well, no. As soon as I woke up, my head went quiet.’ I took a sip of Hypnos’ tea, even though I already felt like I could fall asleep at any moment. ‘I think that is good. But, on the other hand, why did they go quiet? I…’ I yawned. ‘I guess the deathshower is making me paranoid.’

‘Hm.’ Dionysus stared at my cup. ‘What I think is the wise thing to do is to see what happens next. If it becomes a recurring dream, we need to take action. If it is something for just this one night, or the last few nights perhaps, it might be nothing more than a manifestation of your fears.’ He sighed.

My eyelids were so heavy. I stared into the fire, hoping that the light could help keep my eyes open. 

‘Nico? Nico, Can you still hear me?’

‘Hmmyes. I do.’ 

‘Going to Tartarus, which you already did once…’ he fell silent for a second. I looked over at him with as much strength as I still had. He looked horrified, the way you do when you remember something you forgot. ‘...is something you should not do again. The voices might keep begging you. If that happens, you come to me and then we’ll find a way out. A way that does not involve going to Tartarus. You might get irreversibly scared if you go there again.’ 

‘I… I get that,’ I mumbled. My limbs were heavy now too. ‘I… I don’t want to go to Tartarus.’ Did I just say its name? Darn, I think I did. 

‘Of course not.’

‘Do you want to talk about your first experience in Tartarus soon? And sorry if I am randomly dropping things on you at the moment. This needs to be said before that stuff...’ He waved at my cup with a disgusted expression, ‘...knocks you out.

I tried to think as well as I could. ‘Yes… yes. I think that it is a logical…’ I yawned. ‘...Next step.’

Dionysus sighed. ‘Alright, I am never using that tea again. Hypnos must have changed the formula.’

‘Ah. I think I’ll sleep soundly now, that’s nice.’

‘It is not supposed to drug you.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Thanks for telling me all of this, Nico. Now, you should go back to your cabin. Immediately. No, wait, I'm bringing you.’

He got up from the couch and helped me do the same thing. We teleported to my cabin, I fell onto my bed and I was gone.

‘Hypnos, you total imbecile,’ Dionysus cursed. He looked at Nico, who was fast asleep. At least he looked like he was at peace now. 

The god did not like what Nico had told him. A face with pointy teeth, snakes, horns, voices… It sounded an awful lot as if the Elder Gods had gotten themselves into trouble again. With a deep sigh, he teleported back to the Big House. 

With a deep sigh, he sat back down on the couch. 

Suddenly, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. ‘Ari…’

‘Dio, I sensed something was wrong,’ she said, way to excited for those words. ‘Not that I am happy with that, but I sensed it. The bond is healing.’

That was good. But that was weird. Gods, what did it matter at the moment.

Ariadne sat down on the couch next to him. Oh, it probably meant something. But if it waited this long, it could wait just a little longer.

A/N:  I have the entire arc for Nico written out. Strap yourselves in, kids, we are getting off canon (Mostly because R.R. did not provide any canon). 

This is a little clungy first new-arc chapter, because I wasn’t entirely sure yet where I wanted it to go when I wrote it. Now I do and the next chapters will be nicer. 

Talking about the next chapter, it is not really about the new arc, but godsdammit did I have a good time writing it.